The Wolf and the Griffin
by Fainmaca
Summary: At the ancient Witcher Fortress of Kaer Tiele, Frederick of Asheberg continues his training as a monster hunter, until one day when he meets Liva, a Redanian Princess with a dark secret. Based on the events of the 1st International Season of the Witcher School Larp.
1. Chapter 1

Candles flickered uncertainly in the great banquet hall of Kaer Tiele, their scant light serving only to further highlight the dark shadows that clung to the ancient, mouldering stone of the stronghold. Beneath their glow, the hall's denizens noisily went about devouring the fare laid before them, a somewhat modest spread of cooked meats, stew, bread and strong cheeses. Mead and wine flowed freely between the hundred or so assembled Witchers, lifting their spirits even as the weight of the circumstances that had brought them together weighed upon all of their minds. True, many of them were fugitives of the state, the foremost among them was now a 'guest' of the Temerian king, and their last stronghold, the palatial Kaer Marter, was now occupied by the very Temerians the Witchers had dedicated their lives to protecting, but still the mood remained jovial, upbeat. A trio of bards. moved about amongst the monster hunters, spreading cheer with their song. An imperious Elven Sorceress glided smoothly between the long tables, a respectful, awestruck silence following her wherever she moved.

Frederick, the first Witcher of Asheberg and member of the School of the Griffin, watched all of this with a measure of incredulous curiosity. After everything they had been through these past few years, from the Kaer Marter Massacre, to the siege they had just barely survived, to the attack on Kaer Tiele itself, he found it hard to summon any joy at the sight of all of his friends and allies gathered together once more. Especially after what... after what he had seen in his visions.

He suppressed a shudder, trying to banish the memories of that night, in the Druids' Circle with Kartos, his flesh bathed in the cool waters of the Faerie Pools, his mind enlightened by the herbs of the Wandering Ways, essence purged by fire and strengthened by stone. The Rites of the Elements had been gruelling, almost too much even for a Witcher to bear, and yet nothing could have prepared him for what he would witness next. A fortress, the very one he sat in now, engulfed by flames. His friends, the Nightsabers, laying slain at his feet, their dead eyes pleading, accusing, helpless. Dirk's voice- no, his screams, echoing across the courtyard, then suddenly, violently cut short. And, finally, him. Gildarts Pran of Maribor, emerging from the flames, the markings on his face glowing with brilliant power. Disdain and arrogance exuding from every pore. A cruel sneer, a laughing challenge, a flare of power, and then, nothing. Nothing but blackness, death, and the sorrowful howl of a lone wolf.

The young Witcher started as a hand slapped down on his shoulder, the powerful presence of Njall by his side rousing him from his fearful thoughts. He managed a smile as he turned to greet his old Master, before that smile slipped a little on catching sight of his current mentor, the Witcher known as Dirk of Riverdell. Frederick managed to keep his lip from curling in irritation, his greeting of the Griffin Master stiff and formal. Pushing aside his irritations for the moment, Frederick turned to the food before him, able to find some comfort in a meal that consisted of more than mere moss and stewed mushrooms.

No sooner had the Nightsabers, Hilda, Morold and Petir among their number, gathered around a table to begin sharing tales of their exploits, than a servant bustled up to the group, his furtive stance causing him to stand out all the more. All around the feasting hall, keen yellow eyes flickered to the nervous shape, ears straining to listen in as the servant whispered anxiously in Dirk's ear.

The Griffin Master sat in silence for a long moment, expression almost as unreadable as the Griffin medallion that hung from his neck. His eyes narrowed just a hair as the corner of his lip turned downwards. He paused for a long moment, then slowly, purposefully, stood up, eyes darting to each Nightsaber around the table. His gaze paused for a long moment on Frederick. When he spoke, his words were clipped, terse.

"All of you, with me." Not a request, a command. Even Frederick, with his simmering resentment burning in his gut, did not think to contradict the Witcher.

The Nightsabers, without a word, stood to follow. All around the Hall, other Witchers stood, discreetly removing themselves from their groups. Special care was taken to avoid the attention of Commissar Strenger and his retinue. As the Nightsabers quickly followed Dirk, they soon found themselves at the heart of a cluster of about twenty or so Witcher adepts, of varying Schools and experience. Frederick even caught sight of a few fresh-faced individuals, clearly not having endured the rigours of the Trial of the Grasses yet, presumably swept along by older, more seasoned adepts. The Red Griffin withheld his judgement on such a decision, stern though it was. Whatever had Dirk so unnerved, it was not to be taken lightly. Silently, Frederick eased his way through the group to stand at his Master's shoulder.

"Dirk." It was a quiet announcement of his presence, although he was sure the Master was aware of him. "I seem to recall you asking me to confide in you if ever I was about to do something stupid, reckless or dangerous. Care to extend the same courtesy to me?"

The older Griffin stalked on a few more steps, not even deigning to glance sidelong at Frederick. When he finally spoke, it was in a low tone that the others could not hear.

"There has been a sighting of some monsters close by the castle. Too close. The peasant folk who reported it claim to have heard growls, howling in the night, massacred corpses. The signs, the trail of destruction described... it is all too familiar."

"Should we not alert the others at the castle?" Frederick asked. "Organise some defences? We have many young adepts here now, not ready to face anything bigger than a Ghoul or Mucknixer on their own. And as for the non-Witchers..."

"I know, Frederick, but with the Commissar here, and the eyes of Temeria upon us, we must be careful. We cannot be seen to fly into a panic at the slightest hint of a beast at our gates. Lennart wishes for us to appear strong on all fronts, unassailable. We need to deal with this quietly, and quickly."

Frederick could only nod, instead turning his attention to the uneven ground before him as the group made their way out of the castle, crossing the moat in quick succession and heading for the motley band of tents that had sprouted on the land before the fortress, home to the Commissar's men, and a few unfortunate Witchers unable to find a billet within the castle itself.

The dark night closed in around the Witchers, a few of the more seasoned ones having the sense to have brought torches with them to pierce the murk. Frederick, on the leading line of the troupe, needed no such aid, his feral yellow eyes well adapted to the gloomiest of conditions. He moved to keep ahead of the flames, looking to preserve his night vision as best as he could. At his side, Dirk unsheathed his sword, the silvered edge almost sparkling in the night. The young Griffin suppressed a groan as his hand moved towards the empty scabbard on his belt, his blade put aside as a show of good faith on arriving at the castle. Silently cursing such momentary forgetfulness, he instead reached up to his medallion, feeling the sharp points of the Griffin's beak and feathers elicit brief sparks of pain that coursed through his system, awakening deeper senses. As the brush underfoot thickened, the group slowed, until Frederick finally heard it.

The noise was deep, throaty, guttural. It reached down deep into the minds of all that heard it, playing upon ancient, animalistic instincts. Half roar, half howl, it betrayed the presence of a truly immense beast somewhere in the shadows. Soon, a cacophony of lesser howls, more mundane in nature, rose to join it, a chorus of beastly notes rising to the full moon far above.

The Witchers tensed, glancing all about in trepidation. Blades slithered out of sheathes, arrows nocked on bowstrings, and fists clenched in anticipation. Frederick, calling upon the teachings of Kartos and his Circle, eased his breathing, partially closing his eyes as he opened up deeper, more ancient senses. Calling upon the elemental teachings of his Druid allies, he reached out, communing with the world around himself. He could feel the minds of the Witchers closest to him, their thoughts tense, electric bundles of worry and nerves. He could sense Dirk by his side, a pillar of granite in the cluster of anxiety, although something darker, colder, lurked deep beneath the surface. Finally, he sensed the wider forest, spreading out around him in all directions. Vibrant rivers of arcane power surged beneath the soil, congregating nearby in potent places of power, rich pools of magic that a Witcher, or any arcanist for that matter, could easily draw upon. It was only as he found these, his mind brushing the surface of their reserves gently, respectfully asking for their aid, that his mind truly opened up, allowing him to perceive everything around him as clearly as one would during the bright midday sun. At last, he saw what he was looking for.

Dark shapes, like raging pillars of fire and smoke, loped through the trees, the life energy of the land recoiling from them in revulsion. Something deep within these beasts, which could perhaps at one time have been considered hounds, had corrupted them beyond any understanding. That corruption boiled within them, driving them to further extremes of rage and insanity with every moment. To exist was torment for them, their physical forms twisting to match their warped minds. A tendril of potent energy trailed out from the mind of each beast, all reaching back to weave together in the hands of something the likes of which Frederick had never seen. Morbidly curious, Frederick focused his mind.

Almost as if sensing his scrutiny, the creature shifted its focus, looking to the front line of the Witchers. Before the young Griffin could even shout a warning, the werewolf let loose a truly terrifying howl, and charged straight at the Witchers, at Dirk, at Frederick.


	2. Chapter 2

The monstrous figure loped forward, its gait a mixture of menacing, two-legged lumber and feral, four-limbed gallop. Fangs shone white in the flickering torchlight, flecks of saliva trailing from their razor-sharp points in glimmering strands. Even with the torchlight, the beast was hard to distinguish from the darkness of the woods, its midnight-black fur blending perfectly with the gloom. Were it not for the cacophony of grunting, snarling and vegetation splintering underfoot that accompanied it as it charged, the beast could easily have caught even a wary Witcher off-guard.

Dirk lunged first, the experienced Witcher a blur as he raced to meet the monster, his blade whipping through the darkness. The creature howled as the weapon sliced through its hide, but the sheer mass of muscle and rage could not be deterred by even a greivous wound, barrelling into Dirk with a furious snarl and bearing the Master to the ground.

Frederick was instantly beside his Master, undeterred by his lack of a weapon. Instead, he called upon his true strength, clutching at his medallion as he traced a mystical rune in the air. White energy shimmered around his fingertips, taking the form of a rough triangle in the air before the young Griffin. Drawing a deep, powerful breath into his lungs, Frederick unleashed a pulse of power from within his heart, the power of his conviction and focus behind it.

"AARD!"

A bolt of semi-solid air leapt from his outstretched palm, the Sign of motion streaking out to strike the werewolf square in the side. The beast wheezed as the air was driven from its lungs, lifted from astride Dirk's body and cast back into the underbrush. Wild eyes whipped about to focus on Frederick, an intense glare of fury, malice, and hunger behind them. The monster snarled as it picked itself up, feet twisting in the soil as it made ready to leap again.

Before the monster could make a renewed attack, the rest of the Witcher line moved forward, swords and Signs in hand. The werewolf howled as many steel weapons nicked its hide, but caused little to no damage. Frederick, allowing a moment for the magical energy within his flesh to swell again, turned his attention to the beast's companions, emerging from the shadows to the aid of their leader.

The beasts had once been some kind of hunting hound, but no longer. Strange energies seeped through their flesh now, twisting muscles and corrupting bones. Large, elongated jaws oozed caustic spittle, while bloodshot eyes stared out at the world in a mixture of ravenous hunger and madness. The magical energies that infused their flesh clung to them like a cloud of black smog, causing the foliage around them to wither at its touch. Seeing the werewolf beseiged, the hounds surged into motion, a series of harsh barks and howls tearing loose of their gaping throats.

One creature lunged at the prone Dirk, but Frederick quickly used another Sign, this time a Quen, to sheild his Master as he regained his feet. The hound let loose a perplexed snort as it struck an invisible barrier, unable to reach its prey. Before it could recover from its surprise, Dirk's sword lashed out, splitting the diseased animal open down its side, from jawbone to hip. With a distressed whimper, the hound staggered back, entrails and blood spilling from its wound before it slid to the ground, dead. Dirk, scrambling to stand upright, nodded his thanks to Frederick.

"Focus on the werewolf!" He barked an instruction. "As long as it is loose, more beasts like these will flock to its side!"

Frederick nodded, a grim curve to his lip as he regarded the monster, somehow managing to keep the barrage of Witchers at bay with its wicked claws, gnashing teeth, and sheer, unstoppable ire. Blood glistened in its coat, dripping from its mouth and claws, but aside from the wound Dirk had inflicted, it showed no signs of injury. Instead, the steel blades most of the weapons held merely glanced off its thick hide. Sensing that a mundane arsenal would have no effect, Frederick braced himself, tapping into the inner arcane energies that coursed through his flesh. His mind and heart flared with different thoughts and emotions, expertly shifting his vibrations to be in tune with the elemental plane of primal flame. Sparks leapt from his fingers as he drew the Sign in the air before himself, lips curling around the command word.

"IG-"

"WAIT!" Dirk's hand gripped his apprentice's wrist, halting the young Witcher mid-cast.

Frederick felt his entire body jolt, the energy he had summoned catching painfully within him, denied the outlet it longed for. The young Griffin struggled not to let out a pained, frustrated shout as every fibre of his being demanded release, and yet the Sign remained hovering in the air before him, unfulfilled. Confused, frustrated, even a little betrayed, Frederick turned a pained glare to his Master. Dirk remained oblivious, his gaze locked on the werewolf.

"It can't be..." He breathed. As the Witchers surged towards the beast, he let out a concerned shout. "STOP!"

Some Witchers heard, their charge faltering, but others remained fixed on only slaying the beast, rushing headlong at it. With a loud curse, Dirk leapt into the fray, forcibly shoving younger adepts out of the way. With a fearsome cry, he lunged at the beast, bearing it to the ground even as its claws scraped across the back of his armour, tearing long, deep gouges. As he wrestled with the immense creature, his laboured shouts reached Frederick's ears.

"It is Liva!" He shouted. "We must restrain her! Do not kill her!"

"Axii..." Frederick muttered, in an instant aware of what needed to be done. "Quickly! We need to use an Axii Sign!"

The Nightsaber raced forward, medallion thrumming at his chest as he took the power trapped within him, the same furious energy that had almost emerged as a raging ball of flame, and changed its intention, feeling the coursing pathways in his body and mind shift as he dropped into a crouch next to Dirk, grabbing hold of one of the werewolf's shoulders and, with all of his strength, twisting the beast around until its primal, animal eyes glared directly into his own. He met the stare, undaunted, forcing the beast's mind to focus upon him. With a surge of power, he unleashed the Sign boiling within him.

"Axii!"

The Sign was half shout, half whisper, but full of the power of intention. Frederick's will pulsed out, a rumbling wave of energy that struck the werewolf's consciousness like an ocean breaker striking a sandbar. In that moment, Frederick connected with the monster's mind, seeing it truly and completely. At first, he was overwhelmed by the raw, bestial fury he witnessed, a creature of unrivalled rage and power, chains broken as it rampaged through the skull of the body it inhabited. The tang of blood, the warmth of flesh, the scent of death, all these things fuelled it and nourished it, inciting something similar to ecstasy within its soul. As Frederick first brushed the gruesome thoughts, he felt his will tremble, the beast threatening to take hold of his will, too. Anger, hunger, and lust for carnage filled his thoughts. For just a moment, the Griffin's nerve faltered, but then he saw it.

There, at the heart of the carnage and bloodlust, a shimmering white shape cowered, bound in thick, iron chains. It was small, almost delicate, and utterly crushed under the weight of its imprisonment. And yet, even as the raging fires of animal hunger stormed around it, threatening to consume it utterly, still it remained, diminished but resolute, an inspiring light even in the deepest darkness. Frederick felt the light breifly glance into his mind, felt its true nature for just a glimpse, and understood. As he did so, renewed focus surged through him, energising him.

With a blink, Frederick returned to the physical plane, scarcely an instant having passed. His eyes refocused as he glared at the werewolf before him. Reaching up with his free hand, he pressed his open palm to the beast's forehead, wary of the snapping jaws, and cast again.

"Axii!" This time, the Sign was quieter, but more firm, a tidal wave of sheer will bearing down on the beast's mind. "I am the first Griffin of Kaer Marter, the last of Meinard of Mettina's creations, a Witcher and a student of the arcane. You will listen to me, and be subdued. Axii!"

The werewolf tried to fight the suggestion, but the former mage's apprentice proved to be the more resilient, dazing the creature. Its body relaxed, although within its eyes, Frederick could still see the wrath trying to escape, beating at the temporary cage Frederick had placed around its mind. Around them, the other Witchers quickly dispatched the last of the twisted hounds, blades bloody in the dark as they struck swift and true. Dirk, feeling the werewolf's resistance weaken, quickly moved to stand again, grabbing the beast by one arm.

"Somebody help me carry her!" Dirk called, gesturing for a nearby adept to come to his aid. Then, with Frederick still channelling the energies of his Sign into the beast's mind, they began to lead the monster, guiding it in the direction of the castle. Dirk turned a wary eye to Frederick, noting the beads of sweat already rolling down his face. "One of you stand ready to cast the Axii Sign when Frederick must release!"

Another Witcher, a small woman Frederick knew as Velda, stepped up, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Nodding appreciateively, Frederick took another few steps, before easing his control as the young woman stepped up.

Sensing the shift in power, the werewolf strained against the magical controls over its mind, but with Velda casting the Axii, and Dirk holding tightly to the beast's arm, it was subdued once again, barely able to stumble between its captors. A furious, plaintive growl seeped through its teeth.

"Keep going!" Dirk encouraged. "Quickly, before we all tire out."

Frederick placed a hand on Velda's shoulder, guiding her as she stepped backwards, not breaking eye contact with the beast for even a second. As he reached out physically, he also reached out mentally, touching her mind, sensing the flow of energy between her and the world around her. He gently touched that connection with his consciousness, adding a little of his own strength to the mix, bolstering his fellow Witcher and watching for the first Sign of wavering control. As Velda's focus began to slip, he called out for another adept to help, glancing back to note Kaer Tiele just a few dozen yards away.

As the young Griffin's focus shifted, the werewolf suddenly surged. Slamming against the magical control held over it, the beast quickly overwhelmed the Sign, breaking free. Before Dirk could react, an arm built like the trunk of a tree hurled him aside with ease, as though he were a bale of straw on a pitchfork. The Griffin Master let out a surprised cry, tumbling to the ground some way away. The Witcher to the other side of the beast was similarly knocked aside, his body worryingly limp as his head struck a tree. Its two captors dealt with, the monster turned its focus to the next obvious threat, the two Witchers before it. With a slavering snarl, it lunged.

Frederick barely had an instant to react, shock pulling at his limbs. With a momentary instinct, he shoved Velda aside, the Wolf School adept yelping as she stumbled out of the beast's path. This done, the Nightsaber raised a hand to cast Axii again, but there was no time. A hand the size of a cooking pot swung through the air, claws outstretched. With swift reflexes, Frederick adjusted his movements, instead using his outstretched hand to catch the werewolf by the wrist, other hand swiftly joining it. The claws stopped, mere inches from his face, furiously swiping at his eyes.

The strength of the beast was immense. The moment Frederick's block made contact, he felt a shiver pass through his entire body, the shock of the impact, making his knees tremble. He strained for just a moment before the overbearing weight of the werewolf surpassed his strength, body buckling as he was slowly, inexorably driven towards the ground, collapsing to one knee as the beast increased the pressure. Behind the grasping claws, the snarling maw of the monster opened wide, allowing thick, hot breath to wash across the Griffin apprentice's face. A cloying, moist smell of rotten meat and metallic blood filled Frederick's nostrils as spatters of red-foamed spittle struck his cheek. Frederick tensed, seeing his end in the white fangs, scarlet tongue and black throat that moved towards him. Frederick felt a defiant roar rise in his chest as, even when the beast's jaws drew close to his throat, he continued to fight back with every ounce of his strength.

"Raaagh!" The cry was wild, reckless, and fearless, a host of Witchers descending on the beast. Under their combined assault, the werewolf was quickly dragged back from Frederick, allowing the Griffin adept to back away, still gasping for breath as his muscles shook. In moments, the Axii Sign was placed on the beast again, once more containing it. Dirk once more took the lead, directing the troupe towards the castle's gates.

After what felt like hours, but in truth was just a few minutes, the werewolf staggered onto the wooden planks of the drawbridge, flanked either side by two Witchers. Frederick continued to help direct the beast, ensuring the Axii Sign remained in place and calling for fresh adepts to aid in the casting when needed.

Halfway across the bridge, the young Griffin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Turning, he spotted a lone figure standing before the castle's gates, one whom he recognised instantly, and who caused the young adept a great deal of concern. Francesca Findabair, most famed of all the Elves and the only Aen Saevherne that Frederick could identify by name, she was a small, almost unimposing figure. Delicate of features and kind of eyes, she could easily be underestimated by those with a more mundane worldview. For one versed in the arcane, though, such as Frederick, the truth of the graceful she-elf was all to easy to perceive. Raw, unadulterated power surged through her body, from the tips of her glowing red hair to the soles of her feet, shod in delicate silken slippers. jewels adorned her brow, gleaming with unknowable energies, beneath which bright eyes shone forth with an ages-old wisdom Frederick had never seen before.

The she-elf stood at the entrance to Kaer Tiele, watching the struggling Witchers with an unreadable expression. As they drew closer, Frederick became aware of a tight feeling in his head, an electric taste to the air. Like thunderclouds building, something swirled in the air around the castle, growing in intensity. At the eye of this storm, the Lady Francesca stood, now raising her arms as she began a low, dreadful chant.

"Ecthaine el'tone belannur me'anon sindos torra..."

The words were unknown to Frederick, but their nature was easy to comprehend. The magical energy that flowed through them caused his chest to tighten, heart pulsing as dizziness threatened to consume him. Being around such potent energies was almost like being drunk, hungover and high on fisstech all at the same time. Wincing, the young Griffin reached up to clutch at his head as Dirk, seemingly similarly affected, shouted out some terse instructions.

"Everybody stand back!" He commanded. He glanced to the Witcher on the opposite side of the werewolf. "Get back now!"

Carefully, hesitantly, the adept released the arm of the now surprisingly docile beast, stepping back slowly. As he did so, Dirk released the other arm, moving away from the monster as the she-elf continued her chant.

The werewolf stood stock-still in the middle of the bridge for a long, tense moment, the only noise escaping from it being the throaty, damp breathing that hissed from between its blood-stained lips. It looked about in confusion, its movements slow, trance-like. Finally, its gaze settled on the Aen Saevherne before it, and tension returned to its shoulders. Its breathing deepened as rage filled its form once more and, with a terrible scream, it lunged forward, bounding across the bridge in the blink of an eye. It dashed past the exhausted Frederick, eyes focused solely on the elven sorceress. For just a fraction of a second, the young Griffin felt a surge of worry for the she-elf, but what happened next erased any sort of doubt in his mind.

The werewolf ran headlong towards Lady Francesca, slavering maw agape. Its claws stretched out as it moved closer, ready to rend her in half. Then, just as it reached the ancient stone archway that marked the entrance to the castle, the magics around Lady Francesca surged. Runes glowed with blinding intensity in a circle before her, forming a powerfully bright ring around the monster and bringing it to a sudden halt. The werewolf flinched back from the light, snarling angrily. It staggered, trying to continue its charge towards the Aen Saevherne, but a flare of white fire licked at its hide as it tried to approach the edge of the ring, eliciting a tormented howl from the beast. It stumbled back, dropping to one knee as the she-elf's chanting rose in intensity. The words thundered with energy, an inarguable instruction and command rising from the depths of the earth, the heights of the heavens, and all the world in between. The werewolf let loose a final, desperate howl as smoke streaked through with violet, blue and white seeped out of its body, shrouding it from view.

On the edge of the magic circle, Frederick dropped to his knees, gasping as the magical energies manifested before him. Lady Francesca stood at the opposite side of the circle, her ethereal presence almost blinding to his mind's eye. He felt as though he stood before an unstoppable storm, a terrible inferno of blistering intensity. As she continued her chant, voice somehow calm and yet louder than any of the werewolf's howls, the pressure in the young Griffin's head increased, until finally he had no choice but to release a tortured groan. A trickle of blood dripped from his nostril, his pulse racing in his skull, heart struggling against his ribcage.

Finally, much to Frederick's relief, the chanting subsided, and the pain with it. He looked up to see Francesca lowering her hands, the power within her fading as she released it for the time being. In the centre of the circle, where the body of the werewolf had been, now only a small cloud of swirling smoke remained. In the heart of that cloud, something shifted.

Frederick struggled to his feet, shaking his head to clear the final remnants of the magic that clouded his mind. As he did so, Dirk shouldered his way past him, rushing to kneel next to the small form at the centre of the circle. More Witchers moved to follow him, but Frederick stopped them with a quick, cautioning gesture. Sigils still glowed on the cobblestones, and the energy within the circle remained uncertain, unpredictable.

Dirk hovered over the small figure, hands moving uncertainly as the last wisps of smoke dispersed. He sighed, partly with relief and partly with exhaustion, and then turned to wave Frederick and another adept over. Cautiously, the pair approached the fallen form of the werewolf.

In place of the beast Frederick had been half-expecting to see, instead he saw the slight, fragile frame of a young woman, clad in a simple white dress. A cascade of dark, red hair, almost scarlet, splayed out across the cobblestones around her head. As Dirk gently drew the hair back from her face, Frederick felt the breath catch in his throat. Her features were delicate, gentle, beautiful. Softly curving lips the colour of blood stood out in stark contrast to her pale complexion. Eyes clenched shut in pain as she groaned, clenched fist pushing against her brow. Dirk whispered gently to her, before turning to look at the adepts.

"Take her inside, quickly. We'll have to keep her in the dungeon for the time being." His words were terse, but a ghost of gentle sadness lurked behind them. "Be careful with her. Make sure she comes to no harm."

Frederick nodded silently, quickly reaching down to help the young woman to her feet. He placed one slender arm around his neck, allowing the other adept to take her other side. Slowly, carefully, they began to escort the groaning woman towards the castle.

Step by step, they made their way to the open door leading down to the dungeons beneath the castle. Frederick, heart still pounding from the exertion of channelling and being witness to so much power, focused on the young woman's bare feet, guiding her to avoid the roughest of the cobblestones, aware of every pained wince she made.

Suddenly, the girl on his shoulder tensed. Frederick looked up, seeing the light of awareness dawn in her dark eyes. She jolted, panic filling her expression as she looked to the Witchers either side of her.

"Who-? No! No no no no..." Her hoarse whisper was frantic, fearful.

"It's okay, Liva." The other adept soothed. "You're safe now."

The young woman looked back and forth between the Witchers. As her gaze met Frederick's, he felt his heart splinter a little. In those deep eyes, he saw in an instant the prisoner who had helped him resist the wolf earlier. He could see in that moment all the pain, all the fear, all the torment she had lived through. Every fearful awakening, every regretful tragedy, every day lost to her affliction. His heart swelled with pity and compassion, and a fire awakened in his soul. A need to help this vulnerable creature, no matter the cost. She reached up to the hand draped around his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

"Liva, listen to me!" He empowered his words with as much sincerty and kindness as he could, channelling a fraction of the power he would normally reserve for an Axii Sign to impart a feeling of calm and safety to her. "You are safe here. You are at Kaer Tiele, with the Witchers. We are your friends, and-"

If he had been more focused, Frederick would probably have picked up on the subtle shift in the girl's manner, the hardening of the light in her eyes, the movement of the muscles in her arms. As it was, he missed the feral flash that filled her gaze, the way her lips twitched back, the sharp intake of breath. Before he could react, her fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulder, pulling him towards her as her throat filled with a snarl, head snaking to the side as her lips pulled back from inhumanly sharp fangs. The bared teeth drove deep into the soft flesh of his throat, tearing open the artery. Blood sprayed from his ruptured throat, the woman's tongue diving deep into the wounds as she gnawed at his flesh and supped greedily at the crimson liquid. He barely had a chance to scream in shock and pain before she bore him to the ground, tearing at him with her broken fingernails. Inhuman grunts and snarls ripped loose from her breast as a cluster of Witchers descended upon her, dragging her from the prone Griffin adept.

The howls and terrified cries of the young woman filled Frederick's ears as he lay on the cobblestones, blood coursing down his throat with every beat of his heart. Choking, spluttering, barely clinging to wakefulness, he felt his head lifted by a fellow adept, one he recognised as Bastien of the Phoenixes. Somewhere, someone was yelling for a healer, while another screamed for a Swallow potion. All Frederick could truly comprehend was the red tide pooling around him, and the cold sapping at his mind and body. His eyes rolled about in their sockets, finally settling upon the retreating form of the werewolf and the woman known as Liva, dragged away by his fellow adepts. tears welled in her eyes as she looked in horror at her bloody hands, tasted the hot blood upon her lips. As unconsciousness slowly pulled at Frederick's mind, his eyes locked with hers, seeing in them the sorrow and fear that wracked her. Then, in a moment, she was gone, and Frederick slipped into blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

The warm summer air was stifling in the courtyard of the castle. There, in the shadow of the crumbling walls of Kaer Tiele, the hundred or so Witcher adepts proceeded through their morning warmups. Two Masters, Jaeger and Issa, barked orders at them, instantly descending on any young recruit who showed the first sign of wavering. Sitting in the shade by the well, Reinicke watched all the goings-on with a sardonic grin. Were it not for the aura of gloom and anxiety sitting atop the ancient castle, one could have been forgiven for assuming that all was well, and the Witchers were going about their business as usual.

Walking carefully down the stone steps that led to the grand entrance of the castle, Frederick winced as he took a ponderous step out into the sunlight. The aftereffects of drinking one too many Swallow potions was wreaking havoc with his body, leaving him somewhat nauseous, light-headed, slow. Even with the near-overdose of alchemical concoctions, his injuries continued to pain him, the flesh slowly knitting together. Even with magical assistance, the werewolf's bite would leave scars, of that he was certain. Still, for a Witcher, a few scars was nothing to be concerned with, not when in return he got to walk away from the hunt still breathing. It wasn't the first mark his life as a monster hunter had left on him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

The young Griffin released a low groan as he stepped out into the courtyard. Muscles he hadn't been aware that he possessed glowed with fresh pain, protesting their mistreatment the night before. He would be lucky to lift a sword today, let alone swing one effectively. With a tense breath, he carefully lowered himself to sit on the lowest of the stone steps.

"Not joining the other adepts for drills today, Frederick?" Emerging from the castle with his usual feline grace, Algir glided down the steps to stand beside the adept, a chuckle on his lips. "Not gonna lie, you look like shit this morning."

"Better to look like shit than to end up being the main ingredient in a pile of it." Frederick shrugged, wincing as the skin of his neck shifted. "Got on the wrong side of that werewolf last night."

"Ah. The Princess." The older Witcher smirked. "A most lively creature. She get you with those claws?"

"Not quite." Frederick rotated his head a little, exposing the bite marks to Algir's practiced eye.

"She bit you?" Algir's expression grew more serious. "Let's take a look..."

The Cat School Witcher knelt next to Frederick, grabbing hold of his chin to rotate his head this way and that, releasing an occasional grunt of curiosity.

"Seems a little small for a werewolf bite..." He observed.

"She had reverted to Human form by that point, thanks to Lady Francesca's magics." Frederick paused a moment. "Well, mostly Human."

"Ah, the tricky point between monster and maiden!" Algir grinned. "You're not the first Witcher to be fooled by a beast becoming a buxom wench. You gotta give it a bit more time, make sure those claws and fangs are gonna stay gone."

He reached out, gently touching the wounds, lifting a blood-stained fingertip to his nose and breathing deeply, carefully tasting the blood before vomiting out a gobbet of red-flecked spittle on the cobblestones. Muttering to himself, he looked Frederick square in the eyes, then up at the sky, hand moving as he worked through some kind of mental equation.

"When were you born, Frederick?"

"Birke tenth, why?"

"And it's three weeks since Beltane..." Algir was silent for a quick instant, before his head snapped up, eyes refocusing. "You'll be fine." He assured. "The curse won't take hold. But if you get an urge to lick your own balls or chase a moving cart, come find me, and we'll get the smiths to sort you out a fine set of silver jewellery, okay?"

"Very funny." Frederick replied grimly. "Thank you, Master."

"You may wanna take it easy today, though. A werewolf bite is no small thing to shake off."

"Noted." Frederick answered. "I'd planned to spend the day helping Master Dirk with his classes."

"You mean you're not going to take part in my classes today?" Reinicke sauntered over with a lackadaisical gait. "Frederick, you're going to make me cry!"

The Nightsaber could only grin as the Cat School Witcher, now prominently sporting a Temerian Lily at his breast, affected a comical pout. He opened his mouth to fire back a retort, but then noticed a smaller, more nervous figure behind the tall fencing instructor. A young adept, likely not even put through the Trial of the Grasses yet, waited with anxiously folded hands wringing before him. Upon seeing Frederick's attention turn to him, the adept spoke up.

"Um... forgive me, Frederick, is it?" The Griffin nodded a silent response. "The, uh... the Princess had expressed a desire to talk with you."

He turned, waving a hand towards the other side of the courtyard, where the trio of Witchers could see a slight figure watching pensively from the shadow of the old, decrepit tower that loomed over the courtyard. The woman that Frederick had now learned was Princess Liva, a bastard child of the Redanian King, watched the Witchers with careful, wide eyes. As Frederick's gaze turned in her direction, the Princess quickly turned away, focusing her own eyes on some crack in the cobblestones at her feet. Both Reinicke and Algir spared Frederick a sidelong glance.

"Well, it would be rude to keep the lady waiting..." Reinicke leered.

"Perhaps she is looking to continue from where your evening left off last night." Algir grinned. "Careful, Frederick."

Allowing the ribbing of the Masters to slide off his pride, Frederick stood, ambling over to where the Princess waited. As he approached, she raised her head to spare him a tentative, nervous glance.

The Princess was truly beautiful. Clad in a simple green dress, the young woman was small in stature, slender, elegant. Her tresses of vivid red hair framed her face perfectly, falling in a cascade over her shoulders. Most striking of all, however, were her eyes. Deep, emerald, enchanting, behind those eyes lurked something that took Frederick's breath away. There was vulnerability, fear, yes, but also strength, a hardness that had been built up over many years of struggle, and a powerful kindness. It was a stare quite unlike any he had ever seen, a beauty he had never perceived in even the fairest Elf or most powerful sorceress.

Becoming aware and of the fact that he had been stood staring at her for a long, silent moment, paralysed as his mind took in what stood before him, Frederick snapped out of his thoughts. Realising the stature of the woman he stood before, Frederick dropped into an elegant bow, leg stretching out behind himself as the other folded beneath him, arms moving in a refined gesture.

"My Lady." He intoned graciously. The Princess smiled at the display, cheeks flushing bashfully. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I-" She began to speak, but then her voice caught in her throat as her eyes widened. "Oh! Was that-? Did I-?"

She stared in horror at the wounds on Frederick's neck, regret and contrition flashing in her deep green eyes. Tears welled up in her eyes as a delicate hand rose to cover her mouth, throat bobbing as her lower lip quivered. True sorrow flowed from every fibre of her being. Feeling a swell of pity for her, Frederick reached out with a comforting hand, taking hold of hers. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"It is quite alright, Lady Liva. You were not yourself."

"I-I'm so sorry!" Her voice quivered as glimmering droplets danced in the corners of her eyes. "I didn't mean to- I couldn't-"

"Wounds like these are just a part of the Witcher's trade, my Lady." Frederick soothed her, feeling her hand clench in response to his words. "My priority was making sure you were safe and well. I achieved that goal, with the aid of my fellow Witchers. These marks are a small thing in order to achieve that. I do not blame you, and nor should you blame yourself. Now, how are you feeling today?"

Liva paused, drawing in a bracing breath. As Frederick's words reached her, she seemed to find some stability within herself. She nodded gratefully, withdrawing her hand slowly. At his question, she straightened, hand reaching up to her collarbone, where an ugly, circular burn mark marred the skin above her heart. She winced, some unknowable dark thought passing through her mind.

"I am... better." She allowed. "It is never easy, waking up from an attack, your mouth full of the taste of someone else's- of your-" Her voice wavered as she glanced to the ugly wound on Frederick's neck again, tears threatening to well up once more. Frederick once again reached out to squeeze her shoulder, offering her all the strength he could. "I'm still coming to terms with it all, how long I was- how long I was lost for. What might have transpired in that time."

"You cannot dwell on these things too much, my Lady. What happened is in the past, and beyond our reach. The important thing is that you are here, now, and we can do what we can to help you."

Liva's eyes brightened at those last words, although behind the veil of hope that sparked anew lurked a sorrowful reality of resignation. She folded her arms in front of her stomach.

"You still think I can be helped?" She asked quietly, sorrowfully. "Filippa and Dirk tried to help me once before..."

"Perhaps, but this time is different." Frederick encouraged. "We Witchers are gathered here in greater numbers than ever before, and we have two sorceresses here at the castle. If ever there was a time when we might help you, it is now."

The young woman seemed to relax at this assurance, turning her gaze upwards once more to meet his. Frederick felt a sliver of ice race along his spine as she did so, transfixing him with her verdant eyes. The young Griffin could sense within that stare such compassion and gentle hope that it almost caused his heart to stop. And yet, underneath all that, the harsh realism of her many years of suffering, the resigned weariness, as well as the fear that raged within her, was ever present, almost overpowering. In that moment, he knew that he would do anything to help her. No one deserved to suffer like she had, to live with such fear and horror. Frederick's breath caught in his chest as his resolve solidified, filling his spirit with purpose. Liva seemed to sense this, her eyes watching him carefully, seeming to draw strength from his presence. She nodded, a small, innocent smile gracing her lips. She paused to glance behind Frederick, prompting the Witcher to turn and see a couple of servants standing meekly to one side, clearly waiting for her. She turned a regretful smile to the Witcher.

"Thank you, Frederick. I am glad to have met you."

"And I you, my Lady." Frederick turned back and bowed again, this time a little less theatrically. "Be well, your Highness."

The Princess moved past him, sparing him one final smile, darkened by a tinge of sadness as her eyes flickered over his wounds once more, and then she was gone, leaving the young Griffin to his racing thoughts. He needed to speak to an expert.


	4. Chapter 4

Frederick paced the Great Hall pensively, chin clasped in a ponderous hand. Outside, the afternoon's classes proceeded apace, Reinicke shouting out instructions to his latest victims with his usual flair and callous cruelty. Even in his deep state of thought, Frederick couldn't help but grin foolishly at the Cat Master's almost comical way of leading his lessons.

"Push-ups! Come on!" He chanted out. "One! Two! Three! Now smile! Five! Six! Now laugh! You are having a great time! Eleven! Twelve! Now let me hear you cry! Aaaaand you're happy again! Now sad! Now happy! Angry! Confused!"

Frederick chuckled as he heard the perplexed grunts of the newer adepts. Reinicke's antics had irritated the more militaristic Grandmaster Bastian to no end, a mockery of his more serious, regimented drills, but the Nazairi Witcher had to admit that his fellow Cat was an effective mentor, having tutored some of the most adept swordsmen and women to walk the land.

As the fencing class continued outside, Frederick turned his attention back to the dilemma at hand, that of the werewolf Princess. He sighed, turning back to the spread of books he had laid out on a nearby table. Kaer Tiele's library was not the most extensive he had come across, failing to come close to the libraries of Oxenfurt, or the vast trove of knowledge Master Travis had stowed away in his study in Asheberg. Still, it held much knowledge that would prove difficult to find anywhere else in the world. Ancient, yellowing bestiaries, dusty treatises on alchemical concoctions, scrolls full of arcane writings that made the eyes hurt, and a swathe of crumbling parchments relating tales of old Witchers battling fearsome beasts and undoing terrible curses. The young Griffin had spent the past night poring over the vast array of knowledge, scanning the scrawling writings until his head pounded and exhaustion tugged at his mind, earnestly searching for any mention of werewolves, beast-form curses, and other lesser lycanthropes. He'd even managed to find a few missives from the King of Redania relating to Liva, as well as some half-written responses from Svar, describing the steps taken to aid her the first time she had come to Kaer Tiele. Leaning over the amassed knowledge, Frederick felt his eyelids beginning to droop.

The sound of approaching footsteps roused the apprentice Witcher from his daze, spurring him to half-awake attention. He glanced towards the entrance to the hall to see Algir walking towards him, the Witcher's eyes gleaming in the dark interior of the hall. As the Cat School Witcher drew close, he spared Frederick a nod.

"Frederick." He greeted. "I'd heard from one of the adepts that you were looking for me?" His eyes flitted to the table. "Is this why you could hardly pay attention during my class this morning?"

"I'm trying to find a way to help Liv- the Princess." Frederick explained. "I want to know everything about how to cure a werewolf."

"You don't 'cure' a werewolf, Frederick." Algir sighed, knowing his words would not be received favourably. "She's not sick. Do you know how a werewolf comes to be?" He looked to Frederick's blank face, then pulled a seat out from the table. "Come, sit. Hopefully you will pay more attention to this lesson than this morning's."

Frederick complied, finding a chair for himself and turning to face the Master. A momentary relief filled his heart, for Algir's knowledge of monsters and curses was rivalled by only a handful in the guild. There were few who could help him with this matter like the Cat School Master, save maybe Lennart. Algir, his expression grim, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Werewolves are tricky things. Depending on how they were made, they require different solutions. They are cursed, yes, but the curse has two possible causes. In the first, they were bitten, and the curse passed to them through werewolf saliva in the wound. In the second, they have had the curse inflicted upon them, by a malicious being. As far as Liva knows, she was never bitten, so that leaves us with the possibility of someone with ill intentions casting a curse on her. Given our current circumstances, the chances of uncovering the source of the curse are nearly nonexistent. The Wolf School was unable to uncover anything the first time they tried to deal with the curse. Its unlikely we could find out anything now, with less resources and an army camping upon our doorstep."

"So what do we do?" Frederick asked.

"In truth? The simpler thing would be to kill her. We're ill equipped to have a creature as dangerous as a werewolf running around while we face a seige on all sides."

"She doesn't deserve that." Frederick felt a pang of some unreadable emotion spike in his chest. Something like sorrow, anger, frustration perhaps? He couldn't be sure. "She's living in fear of her own actions, trapped through no fault of her own. We have to do something to help her."

"I don't know what to tell you, Frederick. Without the source of the curse, its nearly impossible to lift it. You can't just break a curse of lycanthropy through sheer brute force of will. The magics at work are just to powerful." Algir stood, shaking his head. "Try speaking to Filippa. She has been involved in Liva's case for longer than any of us. Otherwise, perhaps you can find something in these old books, or another Witcher may know something that I have not learned."

The Cat School Witcher straightened, turning on his heel and stalking out of the hall, leaving behind him a somber, quiet Frederick. Stifling a weary yawn, the Griffin returned to his studies.

~o~0~o~

The sun was setting outside. Still seated in the Great hall, Frederick only became aware of this when he was forced to light a brace of candles to aid in his reading, poring over the exploits of a long-dead Witcher known as Giddref of Aedirn. He glanced up, noting the reddening sunlight filtering through the dusty windows, and released a low sigh. An entire day spent digging through history, and not a single promising lead. Algir's words still echoed in his mind, the Witcher's warning that his was a near impossible task still weighing heavily upon him. Slamming the latest dusty tome shut, he stood with a frustrated grunt. Legs that had been folded in a sitting position for the whole day creaked in protest, fighting as he stood, but he powered through the discomfort, stretching the kinks out of his spine with a long yawn. he glanced about, noting the servants preparing for the evening meal, bringing out pots of cooked meat and platters of breads and cheeses for the weary adepts.

The peace of the hall was suddenly shattered by a piercing shriek from outside. In a flash, Frederick burst into motion, rushing outside. He cantered down the stone steps into the main courtyard to see a cluster of panicked activity. Adepts gathered in a ring around some sort of commotion, jostling for a better view. Grunts and growls of some feral creature escaped from the midst of the fracas.

As Frederick reached the clustered Witchers, Baron Vulko barreled through the massed adepts, face dark as he made a hasty exit, adjusting a glittering ring on his right hand as he shouldered his way through the crush of bodies. With a firm push, Frederick forced his way into the opening the Baron left behind. In moments, he burst through the ring, pausing just an instant to survery the situation.

The diminutive Witcheress known a Velda was being escorted away, shaking visibly as a fellow adept inspected her for injuries. Meanwhile, in the centre of the circle of gawking Witchers, Liva wrestled frantically with two adepts, holding her firmly by an arm each. The Princess, straining against her Witcher captors, was dishevelled, her hair tangled, her makeup smeared. Her fingers, normally so delicate, clawed at the air, trying to attack any within arm's reach. Under her dress, her muscles rippled powerfully, moving with a strength that flew in the face of her slender frame. Her lips parted, stark white teeth gnashing in her red maw. Her breast heaved violently, sucking in vast lungfuls of air and expelling it in loud, throaty growls. Most striking of all, however, were her eyes. Whereas before, Liva had looked out on the world through emerald green eyes, now those same orbs glowed with feral intensity. There were no whites to those eyes, and instead the irises were a bloody red, the pupils narrowed to tiny, manic points. What looked out through those eyes was not Human, and instead Frederick sensed the gaze of the same beast that had tried to gut him a mere couple of nights previously. The Griffin felt his heart lurch to see the young woman so completely lost to what lurked inside her.

Liva snarled, the wild light in her eyes burning even more brightly as the two adepts tightened their grip. Her teeth, disturbingly normal in spite of her feral growling, snapped together wildly. Her gaze flickered to Frederick, and there was the ghost of recognition there, but her struggles did not diminish. If anything, she became more frenzied, fighting to break her captors' grasp.

Frederick tensed, reaching for his medallion. Inside his body, a storm of magical energy rose, the element of water flowing through him and making ready to manifest in the form of an Axii sign, or perhaps even a Somne, if he could get close enough.

Before the Griffin adept could unleash his Sign, a small but powerful shape bulled past him, rushing straight at the enraged Princess. While short in stature, Master Ruta was not to be underestimated, the Bear School Master hurrying to kneel before Liva. The Witcheress' gaze snapped to either side, her expression grim.

"Get back, all of you! Give us some space!" She growled, voice steady even as it overpowered the restrained werewolf's snarling. Not a single adept hesitated to obey.

Ruta turned back to the Princess, lowering her voice to offer a few soothing, calming words. Frederick felt the energies of an Axii Sign pass through the Master, reaching out to cover Liva's mind. In moments, the wolf receded. Liva slumped, the two adepts stumbling as all resistance vanished from her limbs. Moments later, the Princess lifted her head wearily, as if disturbed from a deep slumber. Her eyes opened, and Frederick felt a wave of relief as the emerald hues had once again returned, the wolf-like stare nowhere to be found. As awareness and consciousness returned to her features, Liva glanced around at the gathered crowd, her expression falling, grief filling her gaze. She glanced to Frederick, eyes meeting his for just a moment before turning back to the cobblestones beneath her, her entire posture filled with shame.

Ruta dismissed the rest of the group, turning back to Liva. With a gentle motion, she aided the Princess to her feet, guiding her towards one of the benches on the courtyard's perimeter. Realising that this was not the time or place to intervene, Frederick stepped back, turning to leave as what passed for normality in the castle returned to the courtyard. As the young Witcher made to leave, he became aware of another figure watching the scene unfold from the shade under the walls of the main tower. Recognising Dirk, Frederick moved towards his mentor.

"Master." He exchanged a grim nod with the senior Witcher.

"Frederick." Dirk's tone was terse.

"You saw what happened?"

"Looks like the Baron touched her with a silver trinket of some kind." Dirk shrugged. "With a werewolf, that will only get one kind of reaction."

"He must have understood what would happen!" Frederick glanced to the Baron, who stood off to one side, watching the young Princess hawkishly as Ruta tended to her.

"He claims not to have known."

"Then he either takes us for fools, or he is one himself!" Frederick felt a spike of heat grow in his breast, a flare of anger at the Human for provoking such a confrontation. "What could he have hoped to gain from doing this?"

"I'm sure he has a political motivation." Dirk shrugged. "It would not do for us to become involved. Not with so much going on around us. We cannot afford to have our attentions divided." He paused, turning to look at his apprentice. "I know what you are thinking, Frederick. Its plain as those scars on your throat. You want to try to help her."

"You think we should not?" Frederick gestured in Liva's direction. "Look at her! She's just a scared girl! She doesn't deserve any of this."

"Deserve has nothing to do with it." Dirk replied flatly. "She is cursed, and there is little we can do about it. We should be concerning ourselves with how to preserve the guild in the face of the enemies who gather at our gates. We cannot afford to be distracted." His gaze turned steely, eyes flashing a caution. "You cannot afford to be distracted, Frederick. You need to learn to ignore the impulses of that heart of yours."

"I won't ignore an innocent life in need, Master." Frederick insisted.

"I'm not asking you to do that, Frederick." Dirk sighed, turning away. "I'm asking you to understand when a situation cannot be fixed. When you need to turn your attention away and towards something else. We tried to help Liva before. We could not lift her curse, even with Filippa's help. In the end, all we could do was suppress it, with an enchanted medallion." He reached up to his neck, nodding to his apprentice. "You've seen firsthand how effective that was."

"Regardless of the risks, I'm not giving up on her yet." Frederick insisted stubbornly. "Not until I know we've tried everything we could."

"Then you haven't learned anything of what i've been trying to teach you." Dirk looked disappointed. "Perhaps you're not the apprentice I thought you would be."

The Griffin straightened, stalking away quietly. Behind him, Frederick looked down to the ground, at a loss for words. His Master's final comment stung more than he cared to admit. Sighing, he turned his attention back to Liva. Ruta had now left, the Master attending to tasks elsewhere in the castle, and the Princess was now talking to a more settled Velda, apologising profusely. After some reassurances from the young Witcheress, Liva calmed somewhat, and the pair began conversing, a more relaxed air settling over them. Content to watch from a distance, Frederick leaned back against the cool wall, a small smile working its way across his features and banishing his worries and pains, if just for a moment.


	5. Chapter 5

Blood.

The smell on the air was unmistakable, powerful, tantalising. It seeped from the walls, rose from the flagstones in thick, heady aromas, permeating everything in the crumbling ruin.

The wolf stalked the ancient stone halls, its mind racing. The scent of carnage was everywhere, inspiring insatiable hunger in the creature's gut. And yet, it could find no relief, for no other living being remained within the halls. Well, no other being but... her. The one it could not touch.

Just the thought of her sent tides of rage coursing through it's veins. A snarl tore loose from its throat as it rose to stand on two legs, body twisting into an animalistic mockery of a Human's. Hands, halfway between beast and man, reached out to score deep gouges in the stone walls. Still wavering between animal and something else, the wolf scrambled down the hall with an uneven gait.

Moments later, the monstrous creature found itself in the great hall of the ruined castle. Inside, it found a large, shimmering sheet of light covering one wall, almost looking like a mirror were it not for the ripples that scurried across its surface. Beyond, the beast could see a large courtyard, around which a set of unfamiliar walls loomed. The shadow of a strange castle lurked in the background. In the courtyard, a motley collection of figures gathered. The wolf recognised a few, its lips curling in fury. Witchers. Wild and primitive as it was, the beast knew enough to loathe the monster hunters. Among their number, a few faces it knew, all too well. It was too simple a creature to recall names, but it remembered the faces, could practically smell the foul stench that saturated their flesh. No good for eating, something poisonous in their veins. But to rend, to disembowel, to slaughter... something outside of instinct, more powerful than hunger, sparked sadistic glee in its mind at the thought.

Another figure moved in the crowd, a fair-haired Human, but one the wolf had learned to fear more than others. The magic that clung to her inspired caution in the beast. As her eyes roved about the courtyard, the wolf could sense a predator that was easily a match for its own hunger, and whose claws were far more dangerous. He knew this one, too. The creature most responsible for keeping it tamed for so long. The wolf's sworn enemy, if such a monster could understand such a concept. The beast lowered into a crouch beside the mirror, watching the scene unfold on the other side.

There was some kind of commotion. Witchers milled about in confusion, something at the heart of the crowd drawing their focus. A Witcher, silver serpent dangling from his neck, pushed his way out of the group, a dagger in his hand. The wolf tensed as it perceived the red liquid clinging to the naked blade, hunger awakening in its belly. Blood. Death. Pain. The sight of the tantalising droplets dancing on the edge of the weapon almost drove the beast to a frenzy. It reached out, long claws scraping against the mirror. In response, the mirror, almost as though alive, shivered. A long, low moan of pain escaped from it, vibrating throughout the crumbling ruin.

Beyond the mirror, the crowd shifted, dispersing slowly. At its core, a small knot of figures remained. Two, Witchers both with Cat medallions at their throats, stood coldly, wiping their hands on their clothes, leaving long, scarlet smears on the fabric. One, a female, looked down at a broken shape on the ground with a regretful glance. The other, a male, was much more dispassionate, face barely registering a flicker as he regarded what the wolf realised was a corpse. Finally, a third figure, a bearded Witcher with a Griffin medallion around his neck, stood up from his previously kneeling position, running his hands through his red hair as he released a growl of frustration, a shout of anger bouncing up into the sky before he looked back at the figure at his feet, sorrow in his gaze. He turned a furious glare on the retreating figure with the serpent medallion, muttering a few words that the monster could not hear through the mirror. Finally, he turned and stepped away, throwing up his arms in impotent fury.

Behind the departing Griffin Witcher, three figures lay sprawled out on the flagstones of the castle courtyard. Pointed ears betrayed their race, a species the wolf was all too familiar with. Even though this body had met only a handful of the Aen Seidh before, the beast knew instinctually to hate them, to fear them. And yet... it had never tasted their flesh before. Hunger renewed inside it as the perspective of the mirror shifted, drawing closer, close enough to see the crimson blood soaking the rough fabrics the Elves wore.

The wolf shuffled closer to the surface of the mirror, a slavering snarl on its lips. Its nose hung a fraction of an inch from the shimmering, rippling surface, musky breath leaving a thick fog on the shifting image.

More movement, this time directly in front of the mirror. The Witcher with the serpent medallion was back. Deep down inside its animal mind, the wolf recognised him. It had encountered the monster hunter before, and within him it recognised the same monstrous nature that it possessed, buried deep, caged, but yearning to break free. A kindred spirit.

The Witcher muttered something, the words muffled by the mirror. He raised a hand, proffering a small bundle of black cloth. The Witcher's eyes flashed as he handed the bundle over, unwrapping it to reveal a glistening red mass. Meat. Blood. Death. The wolf's hunger flared with furious intensity. It could almost taste the metallic tang on the air, could feel the warm life-fluid splash on its tongue, seep down its throat, fill its belly with fire, and send electric shivers through its veins. It was too much to bear.

A clenched fist lashed out, striking the mirror powerfully. The shimmering image shuddered under the blow, a noise like the tolling of an enormous, grim bell ringing out, bouncing through the crumbling ruins. The entire castle shook, the very air itself twisting under the torment of the noise.

Cr-ack.

The sound was tiny compared to the ringing, thundering sound of the wolf's blows, but it instantly caught the attention of the beast. There, in the centre of the mirror, a tiny fracture, no more than a hairline in the vast surface. Sensing an opening, the wolf struck again, and again. Each time, the fracture grew, spreading across the surface of the mirror in a web of weakening bonds. then, with a final, ferocious roar, the monster flung itself at the glimmering image, shattering the mirror into a myriad tiny pieces. In a flash, the wolf was gone, in its place a small, frightened girl, gazing around at the shattered fragments of the mirror in horror. A terrified gasp escaped her throat.

"Oh, by the Gods, no!" Liva whispered hoarsely, looking up in fear to see before her a mirror, a replica of the one shattered at her feet.

As she watched, the imagery showed on the other side of the shining, shifting surface filled her with revulsion, a sickening feeling gripping her stomach. As the scene beyond the new mirror unfolded, all she could do was watch, and scream, and weep.


	6. Chapter 6

Frederick burst through the doors into the Great Hall, face flushed with anger. His feral yellow eyes flickered around wildly, scanning the gloom of the room as servants set about preparing the long banqueting tables for the evening's meal. Finally, his eyes alighted upon the figure of Gedymin, turned away from the Griffin as he helped himself to a pitcher of wine. On the table before him the knife, still slick with elven blood, glistened in the half-light of the castle's interior.

Fury surged in Frederick's throat. The feeling of the life force of those Elves seeping through his fingers, the last of their number finished off by a vicious stab from Gedymin even as Frederick fought to save her, still clung to the young Nightsaber's conscience. The sight of the light fading from the terrified she-elf's eyes as she slipped away filled his mind, its needlessness driving him to deeper depths of frustration. Outside, he knew that the crestfallen Lady Francesca now stood ready to leave the castle, the normally calm Elf's demeanour shattered by such an act of savagery. Feeling the anger rise, Frederick stomped forward, heedless of the cacophony that his boots made on the wooden floor.

"Gedymin!" The single word was barked out with harsh force, demanding that the Witcher turn around. Gedymin straightened, but did not face his challenger. Instead, he merely took another swig of wine.

In seconds, Frederick was upon the Viper, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and forcing him to turn and meet his gaze. He seethed for a long moment, simply regarding the older Witcher's dead, emotionless gaze.

"Why?" It was almost a plea as much as a demand, a lost query, begging for understanding.

"They took a hostage." Gedymin shrugged. "I acted in response, and took them out."

"That doesn't excuse killing the wounded!" Frederick sputtered, looking down at the blood that stained his palms. "The baron was free by that point, and she was no threat! I could have saved her!"

"And then what?" Gedymin's eyes were unblinking, cold. "Keep around someone who attacked one of the few people trying to help us? Another mouth to feed as we face a siege?"

"We need Lady Findabair on our side, Gedymin." Frederick's voice dropped into a low growl. "If you have cost us her aid, if she leaves the castle over this... I swear to you, you won't need to wait for the Temerians to get here to kill you."

"You would do well to remember who you threaten, adept."

Gedymin's voice dripped with venom, and Frederick felt the prickling sensation of a sharp point digging into his side. He looked down to see the knife, crimson with Elven life, angled deftly to work its way through a chink in his chainmail, driving into the flesh of his armpit. A quick thrust, and a lung was sure to be pierced, perhaps worse. Against one so accustomed to penetrating defences, his armour would do little to nothing to protect him. He glanced back to gedymin's lifeless eyes.

"I am doing what I think is right to protect this school." The Viper insisted. "Do not insult me by insisting otherwise, do not try to stop me, and above all, do not mock me with empty threats. If you intend to do something, then do it, don't waste breath on pointless words."

The knife quickly withdrew, and Frederick lurched, finally able to breathe again. As the Viper Master drew away, the Griffin looked down to his hands, stilling the tremour that threatened to overtake him. Drawing in a deep, calming breath, the Griffin closed his eyes, seeking balance within.

Just as his thoughts finally stilled, the equal parts anger and fear slowly receding, a shrill shriek tore through the castle. Frederick turned quickly, looking back the way he had come. The courtyard again. with a weary sigh, the Nightsaber hurried back towards the castle doors.

Outside, a smaller group of adepts than before hurried towards where the fallen elves still lay. Frederick's stomach lurched as he noticed a figure hunched next to the corpses, clad in a green dress he found all too familiar. Liva. His mind began to race. Was the scream hers? Was she so unnerved by the bodies, or had something worse come to pass. The young adept rushed over, although he was quickly overtaken by a swifter figure, clad in a sumptuous red dress, blonde hair adorned with fine jewellery. Lady Filippa Eilhart.

The sourceress from Redania hurried to the Princess' side, crouching next to her. Liva turned to her with wild eyes. Frederick's stomach lurched as he noticed the blood that coated her hands and wrists, almost up to the elbows. Scarlet viscera dangled from between clenched teeth, bloody droplets trailing down her delicate chin. A growl crawled up from her throat. Bestial red light glowed in her eyes, anger rising as the Sourceress drew close, Frederick on her heels. The Princess began to back away from Filippa, still trying to keep close to the Elven bodies. Frederick fought the urge to look upon them, but his eyes could not avoid taking in the grisly sight. One elf, the same young woman Frederick had tried to save from Gedymin's blade, had had her throat torn open, ragged claw marks marring the front of her clothing and exopsing her belly to the air. One of the wounds from Gedymin's blade had been ripped open with animal ferocity, exposing organs and tender flesh within. Unfamiliar with Elven biology, Frederick couldn't guess at what was now lacking, nor did he wish to try. Instead, he crouched next to Filippa, trying to focus on Liva's bloodstained features.

In moments, the red light faded from Liva's gaze. She shuddered, entire body convulsing violently. Something shifted in her, her entire posture changing as her vital energy changed. The bestial presence faded, and she once again became human. As awareness returned to her eyes, she glanced down to see the dripping meat clenched in her teeth. With a yelp, she spat it out, retching as she tasted the blood on her tongue. Her eyes grew wide as she beheld the gore staining her fingers, before she glanced up to see the ravaged corpse before her. A strangled gasp escaped her throat as she stumbled back, losing her footing and striking the flagstones with a jolt. Her hands scrabbled frantically on the stone, leaving bloody smears as she tried to scuffle away from the grisly scene. Filippa was at her side in a flash, instantly placing a soothing hand on the side of her face, forcibly turning the Princess' head so that her terrified stare met the Sourceress' own steely gaze. A wave of calming energy pulsed out from Lady Eilhart, strong enough that, even through his own mental defences, Frederick could feel his pulse slowing, his mind easing. Had he not spent more than his fair share of time around Magi and their ilk, the young adept might well have been compelled to forget the traumatic scene and go seek a quiet corner to sleep in.

In response to the Sourceress' presence, Liva seemed to calm a little, although her eyes remained wide and her posture full of fear. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stammered out a frantic apology.

"I'm s-sorry! I'm so, so, sorry!" Her lips trembled at the words.

Seeing her so shaken, Frederick felt compelled to embrace her, to try and calm her with his presence, but before he could step in, the Sourceress had helped the Princess to her feet, another adept, Bastien of the Phoenixes, taking her free arm. The Griffin could only watch helplessly from a close distance as Liva was led towards the well, the Phoenix and the Sourceress helping her to wash the bulk of the viscera from her hands. As the Princess slowly calmed, she cast another furtive glance towards the Elven corpses, now being unceremoniously removed by several servants. Her expression creased again as she regarded the bodies.

"Why would Gedymin do that?!" She asked plaintively. "He would have known that I- that seeing them would- That-"

"Hush, young one." Filippa soothed, wiping away the blood that clung to Liva's chin with a delicate white handkerchief she produced from somewhere about her person. "What happened, happened. The moment has passed, and the wolf is gone for now."

"But how long until it returns?" Liva turned a surprisingly sharp stare towards the Sourceress. "How long? And what if, next time, it isn't just a-" The words caught in her throat, lips pursing as she gagged at the memory. "-corpse. I mean, I already tried to-"

Liva's eyes flickered to Frederick, to the grim marks that marred his neck. The Princess struggled to hold back a sob, hand rising to her trembling lips as tears welled up anew. Beside her, the Sourceress glanced to the young Griffin, before turning her attention back to the Princess.

"We will resolve this, Princess." Filippa locked her gaze with Liva's. Her icy blue eyes were imperious, and could not be challenged. "I have a way for us to lift this curse. You just have to be patient, and have faith in me. Understand?"

Liva nodded in silence, glancing to the ground before regarding her hands again. She sighed, voice trembling as she spoke again.

"I- I think I would like to retire to my chambers and get properly cleaned up." She said quietly. Watching her with shrewd eyes, Filippa nodded.

"Of course, Liva. I'll have some servants draw you a bath and prepare some fresh clothes." Her gaze flickered to the Phoenix by Liva's side. "Bastien, would you see the Princess back to her chambers safely, please? I shall be along shortly."

The Phoenix nodded grimly, taking Liva's arm and delicately guiding her towards the steps leading into the castle. In moments, the pair were gone. Frederick relaxed, allowing some of the tension to seep from his shoulders, before he became aware of an intense stare being cast in his direction. He turned to see Lady Filippa looking at him, her icy eyes scanning him with unreadable intent. She pursed her lips, arms folding before her ponderously.

"Frederick..." She murmured, clearly still chewing over some thought or other. "You've been spending some time with the Princess, correct? You understand her condition?"

"To an extent." Frederick explained cautiously. "I know that if you were to ask any Witcher master, they would say that hers is a hopeless case, and that the curse cannot be broken."

"As far as they know." Filippa replied flippantly. "Perhaps. It is true such a curse has never been forcibly lifted before. But I believe there may be a way. Tell me, do you wish to see her free of this curse, Frederick?"

"More than anything." Frederick agreed quickly, realising moments later that showing such strong emotion in front of one such as Lady Eilhart was probably ill-advised. The Sourceress' lip curled just a touch, some unreadable emotion flashing in her eyes as Frederick realised he had most likely revealed too much of his own thoughts and feelings.

"Good." The word was quiet, but the ponderous tone behind it made the young Griffin's skin crawl. Filippa straightened, turning towards the castle. "A Source such as yourself will be useful in my plans. We will need all the power we can get. To be the first to have broken a curse of lycanthropy such as this..."

"Forgive me, Lady Filippa, but how do you plan to do this?" Frederick asked. "All the research I have read through offers no clue on how to break a curse as powerful as this one. Not without knowing the true cause of the curse."

"We must try something... new." Filippa's lips curled again. "And it will require a union of power the likes of which the world rarely sees. I think it is no coincidence that Lady Findabair is here at this time. I believe that she may be able to help us."

"Lady Francesca has a mission of her own." Frederick countered. "One that is arguably more important than even Liva's situation."

"Yes, it may take some work to persuade her to lend her aid." Filippa turned, eyes flashing.

Frederick knew in that moment that he was dealing with far more than a simple conflict of priorities. For Filippa to ask the Elven Sourceress for aid... it was almost unheard of in magical circles for any magic user of repute to ask such a thing. The cost to one's dignity, and standing in the community, could be very high. Realising the emotional obstacle that Lady Filippa faced, Frederick felt compelled to step in. Not for the Sourceress' sake, but rather for the young woman caught at the centre of the matter.

"My Lady Filippa..." He paused as her cold blue eyes turned to him again. "I want to help in any way that I can. I shall endeavour to secure Lady Francesca's aid in this matter, and do whatever is necessary to break this curse. Should you need anything else from you, you have only to ask."

"Excellent." The smile on Filippa's lips was thin, lacking almost any warmth. "Thank you, Frederick. I shall remember your pledge, and keep you informed of any developments in this matter."

With that, the Redanian Sourceress turned away, gliding across the uneven flagstones with predatory grace. Behind her, Frederick chewed his lip uncertainly. How was he supposed to negotiate with not one, but two Sourceresses? A voice rose unbidden in his mind, that of Master Travis, his old Master in the town of Asheberg.

"If there is one thing I would wish to teach you, young Frederick," The old Mage's voice echoed in the Griffin's memories. "It is this- do not meddle in the affairs of Sourceresses. They are all just as cunning and dangerous as they are beautiful. And you will be hard pressed to find any more beautiful than those that operate within the upper echelons of the Brotherhood."

Turning to look at the retreating Lady Filippa while also turning his thoughts to Lady Francesca, Frederick had to release a long, nervous sigh. If Travis was correct, then the young Nightsaber was in a lot of trouble.


	7. Chapter 7

The Great Hall of Kaer Tiele was silent, save for the scratching of quill on parchment. Seated at his usual table, overlooking the rest of the hall from a raised position like a regal overseer, Master Lennart leaned over his writing tools, bearded mouth turned down in a grim twist as he focused on the task before him.

Frederick paused before the Master Witcher, hesitating just a moment. The Witcher from Touissant had always given him pause. Unimposing as he was physically, his sheer strength of presence, the fierce willpower and hawkish alertness that he exuded, was almost overwhelming. It was with good reason that the Witcher had risen to take charge of the castle while it faced an overwhelmingly superior force of invaders. But, intimidating as Lennart was, Frederick also greatly respected his knowledge, his perceptive powers, and his ability with the spoken and written word. It was safe to say that the Guild knew no other member as shrewd as Lennart of Beauclair.

"Do you have a reason for being here, Frederick, or are you wasting my time as a distraction?" The Witcher's voice was clipped, harsh, but he never looked up from his writings, barely breaking stride as he paused to dip his quill in the ink pot by his side. "Surely you have lessons to attend?"

Frederick flinched, starting out of his momentary hesitation. He'd thought the Witcher to be too absorbed in his work to even have noticed his presence, much less have been willing to acknowledge it. He should have known better than to underestimate the elder Witcher. He stammered, off-balance from the snapped words.

"I- I-" He breathed deep, focusing. "I wanted to talk to you about the matter with princess Liva, how we might resolve it."

"Simple." Lennart's quill continued to dance across the parchment, punctuating one sentence with firm finality. "We kill it."

The Witcher's cold, flat words sent sparks of anger coursing through the young Griffin. Righteous indignation rose within his gut. His chest puffed out as he straightened, eyes flashing a challenge.

"We can't just give up on her! There has to be something we can do, some way to break the curse."

"Without knowing its cause, there is nothing we can do." Lennart was unmoved by Frederick's bravado. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the papers before him. "No one, not even the great Magi of history, has ever broken a curse of lycanthropy through sheer force of will, and now is not the time to begin experimenting with new methods. We have too many enemies all around us to be keeping a ravenous beast inside the castle."

"The enemies around us are exactly why we should try to save her!" Frederick stressed. "If we could lift her curse, save her, then the Redanians will surely be grateful enough to-"

Lennart's deep, booming laughter bounced off the rafters far overhead.

"Don't talk to me about Redanian 'gratitude'!" He scoffed. "I just spent three months among those ingrates, for the good of our kind. They will give us nothing!" His laughter faded, replaced by a scornful grimace. "Especially for a bastard princess that most would prefer to see dead."

"We cannot just give up on her, its not right!" Frederick protested. "She's so young, and has done nothing to deserve such suffering. We must try to save her, whatever it takes! Lady Filippa seems to think it is possible, although she will need aid, from the Witchers and from Lady Findabair. The Aen Saevherne is an old friend of yours, correct? Is there any way we could persuade her to lend her aid to-"

"Lady Francesca is not here to waste her time on such a fruitless endeavour. the Brotherhood has tasked her with handling Gildarts, nothing more." Lennart's words were firm, stony. "You would find your time better spent trying to assist her in fighting the magister."

"I can't leave her to suffer, Master!" Frederick countered. "You haven't looked in her eyes, seen the fear and pain she lives with every day. I have to do something!"

"If you really want to see an end to her suffering, you will take a silver knife and drive it through the back of her skull." The Master, still writing, refused to look up. "In the end, that will be the only kindness anyone here can extend to her."

"Nobody should have to live with such fear and darkness in their life." Frederick sighed wistfully. "There has to be something we can do."

"If you are so determined to waste your time on this fruitless quest, there is nothing I can do to stop you." Lennart finally paused his scribings, but still did not meet the Griffin's gaze. "But any lives that are lost as you draw out this situation will rest on your head. Remember that as you act."

Shoulders slumping, a defeated breath escaping his lungs, Frederick turned to leave.

"And Frederick?" The Master's words stopped him mid-step. As the Nightsaber turned back, he noted that Lennart had finally lifted his gaze from his writings, looking at the young Witcher with cold, calculating eyes. "Its high time you did something about that fucking conscience of yours, before it gets someone killed."

Frederick's mouth opened a fraction to fire back a retort, his cheeks flushing angrily, but the Witcher Master had already lowered his gaze again, quill scratching across the parchment once more. The Griffin's mouth snapped shut as he spun on his heel, marching out with a swift gait.


	8. Chapter 8

Frederick breathed deeply, the scents of the forest filling his lungs. He could taste the aromas in the air, the sweetness of summer blooms, the fresh aroma of green leaves swaying in the wind, the icy clarity of a babbling brook nearby. His ears twitched, listening to the beating heart of the land. Gentle winds whispered through the forest, sending a murmuring sussurus through the trees, leaves rustling as twigs and branches clacked together. Somewhere, close by, a songbird let loose a lilting melody, calling out to a distant mate, notes of affection, belonging and joy rising on the breeze. Somewhere close by his feet, a beetle burrowed its way through the soil, scratching its feet on a particularly stubborn pebble.

The young Griffin revelled in the clean air, glad to have escaped from the musty halls of the castle, at least for a short time. With the threats closing in on all sides, Kaer Tiele had transformed into a veritable prison for the Witchers. A momentary respite was a rare thing indeed. And yet, the red-haired Nightsaber had managed to identify a small passage in the castle's catacombs, leading out into a secluded glade at the foot of the outer walls. One of Harlaw's secret contingency plans that Gedymin had mentioned, no doubt.

Frederick allowed himself a small grin. He had to appreciate the irony. If not for Gildarts plaguing him with dreams of the castle in flames, the Griffin adept may never have found this secret passage, having taken advantage of the nightly visions to explore the castle for weeks before he had even arrived at its gates, learning every corner of the fortress. When he had finally walked into the castle's grand halls, he felt as though he had lived there all of his life. Afterwards, finding the passage had taken mere hours. Now, the mage's attempts to cloud his mind, to weigh him down with worry and fear, had given him access to a place where, in times of great need, he could retreat to find peace and centre himself.

The Griffin knelt in the dirt, tracing a circle of runes around himself, empowering them with a little of his personal energy. It was simple spellcraft, he realised, probably laughably crude and simple to one as skilled as Lady Filippa or even a former student of Ban Ard like Dirk, but it was a style that Frederick had become comfortably at ease with. In tracing the circle, he not only opened his mind to the arcane energies of the land, but he also stilled the turbulent storm that flowed within his flesh, the conflicting energies of a primal Source mingling with the alchemical mutations of the Witcher's craft. While sitting at rest in this place, he could find true peace, and through it, clarity.

He heard her long before she stepped into the glade, the rustling of her dress echoing in the stony passage that led back into Kaer Tiele. Her feet, clad in soft silken slippers, barely made a sound on the bare stone, save to ears as sensitive as a Witcher's. Her breathing, while peaceful, still held a fraction of tension.

The Griffin opened his eyes to see Liva step out of the tunnel into the daylight, blinking a little as her sight adjusted to the daylight once more. She paused just a moment to brush the dust from her red velvet dress, then lifted her gaze to her surroundings. Her emerald eyes scanned the glade for a moment before spotting Frederick. She flinched, momentarily hesitant to find herself in company, before relaxing as she recognised the Nightsaber. A small, uncertain smile blossomed across her face. Frederick returned it.

"My lady." He nodded in greeting. "I wasn't aware anyone else knew of this place."

"I- didn't." The Princess admitted. "I just caught your scent coming down here, and was curious what you had found."

"My scent?" Frederick asked, a curious quirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I wasn't aware it was that bad. I assure you, I do try and wash the gore of battle from my equipment after every hunt."

"No, I didn't- I didn't mean to insult-" Liva sputtered, a red flush rising in her cheeks. She paused, drawing a breath. "Sometimes, the- the wolf side, inside of me, it grants me certain... boons. Vision in the darkness, greater stamina, a heightened sense of smell..."

"I understand." Frederick nodded. Remnants of the transformation, his mind suggested. Or perhaps something else, a merging of the two forms into a new middle ground? He tried to push the thoughts aside, silencing his analytical mind. "So, my Lady, I am curious- what is this scent about me that is so distinctive?"

"Well... it is hard to explain." Liva folded her hands, her cheeks still glowing warmly. "It is like... the scent of a thunderstorm, just about to break? A metallic, energetic tang. That, and damp leaves, fresh rainfall. Among all of those who reek of death and blood, it is very distinctive." She lifted her gaze to regard him. "I smelled someone similar once before. He was a Druid, from Skellige. My father hired him to bring an end to a three year drought that ravaged our lands."

"I don't think I have ever heard such a kind description given about me, my Lady." Frederick smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The smile that graced her lips became more confident, more at ease. "I was wondering what had brought you out here."

"Well, in truth I came out here to escape from the bustle of the castle." Frederick answered. "Between Reinicke's 'motivational' exercises, the Frostwolves howling all the damn time, and those Bears yelling and beating their chests every day, it can be a little difficult to find focus. My time with the Druids taught me that we are most at ease, most focused, when we are surrounded by nature, able to commune with the elements."

"Then I have disturbed you." Liva's expression dropped a fraction, a sorrowful gleam filling her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'll just-"

"Wait!" Frederick raised a hand as the Princess turned to leave. "I assure you, you are not disturbing me. In fact, I would welcome your company. It would be nice to speak to someone without the threat of some new crisis breaking out around us."

"This does seem to be a very eventful castle." Liva smiled wryly. "Or perhaps it is the inhabitants, who create the drama that fills its halls?"

"We do seem to draw a whole lot of trouble to ourselves." Frederick grinned back. "After all, is it not the truth that the common folk say a Witcher never perishes in his own bed?"

He let out a little grunt as he stood, gesturing towards a fallen tree that lay to one side of the glade. With a sweeping motion, he unclasped his cloak, spreading it over the mossy bark to allow the young Princess a place to sit. The Princess nodded graceful thanks at the gesture, shifting just so that there was room for the Witcher to join her. At his words, her lips twisted a little, a regretful downward twitch.

"Does that not trouble you, Frederick? To be condemned to a life of hardship?"

"There are days I do think over the choices that led me here." Frederick admitted, allowing his eyes to turn skywards, regarding the leaves above their head. "I wonder if, maybe, I might have been better off trying to live a simpler life, with a wife, children, a farmstead somewhere in the Aedirnian countryside. I am certain every Witcher thinks about it. But that choice was not given to me. I was sent to the Guild to settle a debt, to repay the Witcher who saved my life. My decision was made long before I arrived at Kaer Marter."

"I'm sorry." Liva said heartfully. "To live a life where control is taken away from you, where your fate is not your own anymore... it is a difficult burden."

The Princess lowered her head, eyes glimmering as her lashes fluttered, blinking back sudden tears. The young Witcher felt his heart swell, a surge of compassion and care so strong as to be almost painful rising in his chest. Unsure of what to do, the Griffin settled for reaching out with his hand to squeeze hers, trying to offer his comfort in some small way.

"Difficult, yes, but not all such burdens are permanent, my Lady." He tried to put all the weight of his conviction behind his words. "Your curse will be lifted, your Highness. I will make sure of it."

"You say that, and I want to believe you, but you are not the first Witcher to make such a promise." Liva lifted her head, emerald gaze meeting Frederick's own sky-blue. She lifted her free hand to the neckline of her dress, pulling it down just a couple of inches, exposing the point where her throat met her collarbone. "Do you know what this is, Frederick?"

The Witcher, aware of where his gaze might wander, carefully examined what the Princess had revealed, surprise flashing in his eyes. There, at the centre of her breast, above her sternum, a hideous wound marred her otherwise flawless skin. Open flesh glistened wetly, blackened, charred scabs hardening over it. The wound was roughly circular, and large enough that, Frederick noted with not a little consternation, one could almost fit their hand inside. Dried blood trailed down from the wound, staining white skin crimson.

"This is what is left of the last time the Witchers tried to conquer my curse. There was a magical gemstone, set in a collar that helped contain my curse, kept me from changing. Lady Filippa set the stone within my flesh, with the help of Dirk and the other Witchers here at Kaer Tiele. The intent was to infuse my body with its magical energy, permanently suppress the change and contain the wolf. It was... not a pleasant process, but worth it to put a stop to the curse." She chewed her lip, the corners of her eyes creasing as she recalled "It worked, but only for a little while."

"What happened?" Frederick asked, after a long, silent moment. Liva kept her eyes lowered, a feeling of shame and sorrow rolling out of her.

"I tried to endure for as long as I could, but the stone... it burned me so!" Her voice wavered. "Every night, I felt as though a red hot coal had been placed in my chest. On the nights of the full moon, it was almost enough to drive me to madness. I thought my mind would break in half from the pain!" She paused, hand reaching up to gingerly touch the wound. "So I... I tore it out. I couldn't take it anymore! I didn't care about anything but freeing myself of the pain. I cut into my own flesh with my fingernails, tore through flesh until I grasped that hideous thing, and flung it into the waters at the mouth of the Pontar, where the currents would sweep it away into the depths of the sea."

Tears now trickled freely down her cheeks, more heavy droplets dancing on the ends of her lashes. A tormented sob shook her shoulders. At this, Frederick leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her into a tight embrace. She leaned into the embrace, burying her face in his shoulder. He could feel the warm wetness of her tears soaking through his shirt. When next she spoke, her voice was muffled, the Princess refusing the retreat from the contact.

"I didn't want to give in, but I just couldn't control myself. There was this raging, swirling energy inside me, and keeping it contained hurt so much! I had no choice."

"I understand." Frederick soothed, reaching up to cup her head, fingers stroking through her red locks in a comforting gesture. "When dealing with magic like this, simply containing it, especially with an item that can't be fully understood, is risky. Nobody had any way of knowing that this would happen."

"Once the stone was gone, completely, the wolf took over." Liva managed, her voice shaking. "Everything after that is just a haze. Images of rage, violence, blood... oh gods, all the blood!"

"It has passed now." Frederick spoke firmly. "Don't let the memories swallow you!"

He squeezed the slight figure in his arms tightly, trying to convey through his strength all the care and comfort he could. He took hold of her shoulders, pulling her away from himself so that he might look directly into her eyes. Reluctantly, she broke the contact, returning his gaze. Dark sorrow rippled in her stare. gently, Frederick reached up to brush at her cheek, sweeping away a tear with his thumb. He leaned close, keeping his gaze locked with hers, passing through his stare every ounce of conviction he could.

"You stumbled briefly, my Lady, but the road is not ended yet. We will find a way to break this curse, this I promise to you. And until we do, I will stay with you, and my abilities will ever be at your service."

"Thank you, Frederick." Liva managed a wan smile, although her voice still wavered. Her eyes flickered to the marks on his neck, then back to his gaze. "Even after everything I have done to you, still you persevere on my behalf."

"I believe in you, Lady Liva. Completely and utterly. I see the strength in your eyes, the good in you fighting back against the darkness." Frederick smiled warmly. "You really think a single bite-mark will change that?"

"I imagine it would, for most men." Liva retorted.

"Well, a good thing I am not 'most men'." Frederick grinned. "Witchers are a different breed entirely. We Nightsabers, even more so."

"I'm glad." Liva's smile grew brighter, the sorrowful creases at the corners of her eyes vanishing. Still, a cold gleam remained in her gaze. "I just wish I could do something to be worthy of such trust and faith as you put in me. Every time I feel like I might be conquering this, finding new strength, something happens to put me back. Like when Gedymin fed me that- when I ate those-"

Her voice hitched again, a greenish tinge rising in her cheeks at the sickening memory. Frederick quickly squeezed her shoulders reassuringly.

"You weren't to blame for that, my Lady. Gedymin was a fool to provoke you in such a way."

"Why would he even do that?" Liva asked, her tone exasperated. "He would have known what would happen!"

"Believe it or not, he probably thought he was doing the right thing, in his own twisted way." Frederick explained. "He almost always has a good reason for what he does. If I had to guess, I would suspect that he meant to test you, to see if your will could resist the wolf."

"Clearly I failed that test." Liva muttered dejectedly.

"Yes, but how could you succeed, when nobody has tried to teach you to reign the wolf in through your own power?" Frederick countered. "You've always relied on Sorceresses, magic artefacts, and Witchers to contain the wolf. Nobody has ever taught you to fight back the impulses through your own strength."

"Are you trying to suggest I simply think happy thoughts and will the wolf away?" The Princess asked incredulously.

"In a way, but nothing so simple." Frederick explained. "The Druids teach a great deal about balance and control, primarily of yourself, and thus of the world around you. Each of the elements they invoke, the changes they make around them, flow from the control they have over their inner selves, and this works in reverse, too. They are able to call upon the elements for feats of great emotional, physical and mental power. While I was with them, I learned a few techniques. I can show you some that could be helpful, if you so wished?"

"If you think it will help..." Liva seemed unsure, but then straightened, taking a steadying breath. "I'll try anything."

"Good." Frederick felt a swell of relief rise within him. He stood, moving to crouch before the Princess, reaching out to grasp both her hands in her lap. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as he centred himself. "The first thing I need you to do is still your mind. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. With every breath in, feel the air around you move and be drawn into you, becoming a part of you. As you breathe out, feel part of yourself flow into the world. Focus on each breath."

The Griffin began to breathe deeply, eyes remaining closed. He listened, hearing each breath that the Princess took. Slowly, he synchronised his own breaths with hers, controlling his body's rhythms to move in time. He felt her hands in his, cold compared to the bright warmth of his own flesh. He could feel every pulse through her skin, the beating of her own heart, the flow of the blood through her veins. As he listened, he could hear every subtle shift of her body, the rustling of her dress as her ribcage expanded and retracted. As he stilled his mind, he could feel her essence before him, seen through the arcane light of his second sight. Watching carefully, he saw her essence grow still, calm, at peace.

"Good..." He whispered, opening his eyes and watching her serene features. "Become aware of everything around you, and accept its ebb and flow. You are a part of the world, and it is a part of you. And just like the energy of the world around you, like the rivers of the land, like the waters of the sea, your emotions flow through you. They ebb and rise, following many different courses. You can try to direct them, control their flow. You can float on top of them, not allowing yourself to truly feel their depth and breadth. Or you can flow with the current, and allow them to control you. Every moment in your life will call for a different approach. But you much be careful, for just as the waters of your heart can hold you afloat, they can also sweep your feet out from under you, drag you under and overwhelm you."

Slowly, almost half-awake, she nodded. Frederick allowed himself a little satisfied grunt.

"Excellent. Now, while experiencing the full flow of your emotions, I want you to tap into the deeper, more primal side of yourself, and summon forth the aspect of fire. Think of the emotions that most powerfully represent the flame- anger, mistrust, resentment, but also elation, devotion, passion. Feel the burning coals they light in your heart and in your belly. Let that heat rise. As it does, breathe in and out swiftly through your nose. On every inwards breath, tense your muscles, all throughout your body. As you release your breath, so too let the tension flow out of your body."

The Princess began to do so, breathing faster and faster. As she did so, Frederick felt her muscles clench in response, her hands tightening around his, then loosening.

"Good, feel the heat this creates in those muscles. Feel how every part of you responds to it! Now, observe how your emotions are responding. You are in control here, my Lady. You don't just direct the fire and the water, you are the flame, you are the ocean!"

As he spoke, Liva's breaths continued, faster and faster, her muscles moving with each one. He reached out with his other senses, feeling how her energy changed before his eyes. The bright light of her essence pulsed, something stirring within it. He could feel the wolf rising, curiosity piqued, hunger aroused by the sudden surge of powerful emotions within her. Gently, carefully, Frederick released the Princess' hands.

"Think about the emotions you feel in those glimpses through the wolf's eyes, how you feel at the moment you emerged from the change, what it feels like when you lose yourself to it."

"I feel... I can sense it, her, inside." Liva gasped, her focus wavering. "She wants to break loose! We need to stop."

"Focus." Frederick kept his tone firm. "You are in control, my Lady. Do not let the wolf take that away from you. You are strong enough to withstand."

Silently, uncertainty clear in her features, she nodded, keeping her eyes closed. Satisfied, Frederick decided to push further. Reaching to his belt, he drew a small hunting knife from its sheath. With a quick motion, he quickly ran the blade across his forearm, breaking the skin and bringing a few drops of blood rising to the surface. He suppressed the urge to flinch at the small, momentary pain. He allowed the blood to rise for just a moment before speaking again.

"Now, hold onto that feeling of control that you have, focus on how firmly you are in charge of your inner self and the emotions that run through you. Your instincts and hungers, those of the wolf within, do not control you. Once you have done that, I want you to open your eyes."

Liva waited just a moment longer, then slowly opened her eyes. For an instant, she was silent, then her eyes moved to Frederick's arm and the small rivulet of blood that flowed from it. Her eyes widened as she shrank back from the sight.

"Frederick?!" She exclaimed. "What have you done? You know I cannot hold back-"

"Yes, you can." Frederick put all of his power behind the words, transforming them into pillars of certain, indisputable fact. "Remember the flow of your emotions, remember the hold you have on them."

Liva's nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of the fresh blood. Her hands clenched the cloak beneath her, gripping the tree trunk beneath in a tight grip. Her breathing was coming in ragged gasps, no longer controlled, no longer balanced. As Frederick observed, he could sense her inner energies destabilising.

"Hold it together, Liva." He counselled, raising his wounded arm between himself and the Princess. "Fight for as long as you can, hold it in check!"

Liva's shoulders rose and fell in deep, long gasps. Her tongue poked out from behind her lips, hunger flashing in her features. Her emerald eyes glowed with fear, anxiety, and raw, animal desire. She glanced to Frederick's eyes, terror rising.

"I can't- I- I- I just can't..." She whimpered.

With something that was a mixture between a sigh and a growl, the Princess slumped, head drooping loosely. Then, with a jolt, her body stiffened, head rising. When her eyelids parted again, the green eyes were gone, replaced with bestial crimson. The wolf, unshackled, snarled a challenge. Frederick, unfazed, stood tall, towering over the Princess' slight frame. He profferred the arm.

"I offer this blood freely, beast." He growled, lips pulling back over his teeth as he met the wolf's gaze.

The creature that wore the face of the woman he cared about tilted its head quizzically, clearly unused to such a reaction on its emergence. The Griffin moved a step closer.

Liva's body stepped forward, poise much more aggressive than her normal, meek demeanour. As she drew close, she raised her nose, sniffing the air, moving closer to the gleaming blood on the Nightsaber's arm. With a tentative, wary motion, she took hold of the arm, drawing the wound close. A cautious tongue extended, gently lapping at the spilled crimson. Frederick shivered as the tongue's surprisingly rough surface scraped across his skin, collecting all of the blood in a few swift strokes. The Liva-beast growled, locking her gaze with Frederick's. Unblinking, refusing to show weakness, the Griffin took a step back.

"You have been permitted this moment, but you are not in control here." He spoke clearly, firmly, a command rather than a suggestion. "Return to the shadows, and allow her to awaken once more."

At this last command, the beast's eyes hardened, flashing with raw fury. Her hands tightened around his arm, fingernails digging deep. With a snarl, she lunged, teeth gleaming as she bit deep into the soft flesh of his exposed arm.

Frederick grimaced at the pain, releasing a low groan, but he had been preparing for this. Tensing his muscles, he withdrew his wounded arm, dragging the Princess along with it until her snarling visage was mere inches from his own. His free arm rose, hand reaching up to cup the side of her face. Two fingers pressed into her temple as the Griffin's inner power surged, his eyes flashing as he channeled the arcane energies of a Sign.

"Somne!"

The wolf started, a look of surprise in her gaze, before the full effect of the Sign overwhelmed her. The beast's eyes widened, then rolled upwards as consciousness fled from her mind. The small figure went limp, collapsing in Frederick's arms.

~o~0~o~

With a final adjustment, Frederick tightened the dressing on his arm, gingerly rolling his sleeve back over the wound. While a Swallow could have healed it in moments, he realised that the injury was so minor that such a course would have been overkill. A Golden Oriole poured into the wound to clean it out, followed by some Aether soaked dressings, was sufficient.

A small groan emerged from behind him. He turned to regard Liva, placed carefully in the shelter of a tree. As he looked to her, the Princess slowly opened her eyes, shaking her head as she dispelled the last remnants of the sleeping Sign that had been cast upon her.

"Unh..." She turned towards Frederick. "What- what did I-?"

Her eyes snapped open, sudden realisation dawning, swiftly followed by fear and worry. She leapt to her feet, looking the Griffin up and down. Confusion crossed her features, followed by a flash of betrayal.

"Why did you do that?!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You knew what would happen! If I had-"

"But you didn't." Frederick interjected. "You had to be pushed to your tipping point, my Lady."

"Why? So you could see the wolf break loose again?" She asked plaintively.

"No. We did this so you could see just how much control you can exert over the beast." Frederick explained. "You held on for a long time there, even when presented with a situation that pushed you to the brink. You fought the wolf for a long time, and managed to keep it under control even as it pushed to break free. Now you know how the meditative techniques, the thinking and breathing methods I showed you, can help to give you strength and take it away from the beast."

"What does it matter if it just slips the leash anyway?"

"It matters a great deal." Frederick stressed. "You can exert control over the wolf, Liva. You can hold it back, even temporarily. In time, you could learn to suppress entire incidents. I need you to understand this, because it will help us greatly in our efforts to deal with the curse for you. Your will needs to be able to overcome the beast even as we try to break the magic that binds you in these two forms."

Liva stared at him for a long moment, eyes glimmering. Then, with a sigh, she turned away, shoulders slumping.

"Fine." She relented. "I can see the logic behind what you did. But never do this again! I have to be able to trust you, Frederick, I have to know you will never knowingly cause the wolf to manifest in me." She turned back, a determined flash in her eye. "If I'd caused any more harm to anyone because of this, if I'd hurt you in some way, I'd never be able to live with that. Do not make me go through that again."

"You have my word, my Lady." Frederick swore.

"Very well." Liva glanced upwards, noting the low position of the sun in the sky. "We should return to the keep. No doubt my absence will be missed soon, if we are not careful."

She turned, heading towards the tunnel entrance. She paused for just a moment on the threshold, half in the shadow of the passage, before glancing back to Frederick.

"Thank you, Frederick, for all of your advice. And thank you for the trust you showed in me, to attempt this. It was brave of you to try. Incredibly stupid, but brave."

"Brave but stupid is just my way of doing things, my Lady Liva." Frederick grinned as the pair vanished back inside the castle.


	9. Chapter 9

"Feainnewedd... En'ca minne. N'te dice'en, N'te mire daetre. Sh'aente!"

The lilting tune danced through the trees, a haunting melody imbued with both sorrow and love. As Frederick worked his way through the underbrush, he felt the lyrics tug at his soul, touching his core in a way he could not explain. As unfamiliar as he was with the tongue of the Aen Seidh, he couldn't deny the beauty of the song, as well as the voice that carried it.

After a few moments of following the melody, almost losing himself to it a few times, the young Witcher finally located the singer. Walking gracefully between the tree trunks, Lady Francesca Findabair at the same time merged with the forest, appearing to be one with it, and also stood apart, clearly elevated far above the natural world around her.

The Aen Saevherne stretched her hands out expressively as her song reached its crescendo, voice rising to fill the air around her with warming energy. Silently, Frederick settled into a low crouch, watching with fascination.

The Elven Sorceress was truly a creature of immense beauty. Clad in an elegant scarlet dress, she was small of frame, slight of build, but not frail. Something within her, possibly part of her Elvish nature, betrayed a deep-seated strength, a gentle but impressive resilience that radiated out from her. Her features, framed by a fiery waterfall of red hair, were youthful and vibrant, hiding the centuries that rested upon her shoulders.

All too soon, the she-Elf's singing came to an end, sparking a wistful twinge in Frederick's heart. As he felt the longing to hear her singing again rise within him, he suddenly became aware of a powerful gaze regarding him. Without the Witcher noticing, the Sorceress had turned to face him, eyes the colour of a cloudless sky analysing him with ancient wisdom. Frederick froze until that stare for just an instant, before sheepishly rising to his feet.

"My Lady Findabair." He offered a low, elegant bow.

"You are the one they call Frederick, are you not?" Lady Francesca asked, her expression unreadable, her tone imperious. "The Witcher who was raised by Travis Jon?"

At first, Frederick was surprised that he was known to the Aen Saevherne, but that surprise quickly faded. Of course she would know about any adept or apprentice at the castle with even an ounce of magical potential. A Source such as he was a rare commodity, and could be a valuable asset to any magus, even when twisted and changed by the Trials of the Witchers. Even as he considered denying it, keeping his true nature hidden so as not to be exploited by one as powerful as she, he could feel her second sight upon him, eyes far more powerful than those azure orbs picking him apart and discerning the truth of his being. To try and lie to one such as she would be not only foolish, but dangerous.

"You see the truth of it, my Lady." He replied, seeking to convey as much respect as possible. "I'd been hoping for a chance to speak with you ever since you arrived at the castle. You work to oppose Gildarts, a great threat to our Guild, and one who has inflicted dark and terrible visions upon my mind these past few months. I had intended to offer my services in trying to undo his works, to aid in the fight against him."

"As should any and all Witchers." The she-Elf responded. "I am surprised how few seem truly ready to commit to any action against him. Even your Master, Dirk, seems very reluctant to act. And as for Gedymin..."

Her eyes flashed, a flicker of lightning breaking across the serene skies of her gaze. For a moment, the genteel exterior hardened into granite, and Frederick knew that, no matter how fair or beautiful the exterior, within lurked a powerful and above all dangerous Sorceress, at least the equal of any magic user Frederick had ever met, save perhaps Gildarts himself. Then, just as quickly as it had surfaced, the flare of anger vanished, replaced once again by the placid exterior, her eyes calm once more as she turned her piercing gaze upon the young Griffin.

"But I sense that you are not here to discuss Gildarts." She observed. "Something else plagues your mind."

"I should have known nothing would escape the notice of one of the Aen Saevherne." Frederick smiled wryly, before his expression grew more sombre. "I wondered if I might ask for your advice on the situation with Princess Liva."

"Ah. The werewolf." Francesca's words were short, curt. "From what I understand, the esteemed Lady Eilhart was dealing with this matter, was she not? Surely your questions would be better directed at her."

"I was hoping that the perspective of an Aen Saevherne might prove useful in the matter." Frederick responded smoothly, his words carefully honeyed. He knew he was walking a fine line, between compliment and obvious flattery. "Your kin know much that a Human could never truly comprehend, and I know from my time with Magister Travis that you in particular are most skilled and knowledgeable, Lady Findabair. I think it is no coincidence that you came to us at this exact time, my Lady. I think that destiny has had a hand in these events."

"Destiny is a fickle thing, vatt'ghern." Francesca used the pejorative term callously, clearly knowing that Frederick would recognise it. "While we must respect its whims, we are also not enslaved to it. Our individual destinies are our own. But you do bring up some interesting points. So tell me, why do you think the hands of fate directed us to this point?"

"There are few around who can match your skill or wisdom, Lady Findabair." Frederick confessed sincerely. "And Lady Eilhart's experience with beast-form transformations is unparalleled. Together, you possess a power and skill no one else in the world can even come close to."

Francesca allowed a small smile to slink across her lips. While it still contained a ghost of warmth, there was a certain unimpressed, cold edge to it.

"You certainly know your way around your words, scholar, but flattery will get you nowhere with me."

"Then I shall be more direct- Lady Eilhart believes that she has a way to break the curse, but it will require more power than she has at her disposal. We both believe that, should the two of you unite your abilities, you might stand a chance to defeat the powers that bind Liva."

Francesca went to shake her head, but then hesitated, glimmering blue eyes flickering to look at Frederick with renewed interest. She straightened, turning her body to face him fully. Her expression turned a little quizzical.

"For one so low-born, you speak of the Princess with great familiarity..." She mused. She took a step forward, pausing inches from the young Griffin. Her piercing blue gaze scanned his features intensely. "You care for her, don't you?"

"I-" Frederick paused, choking on the denial, realising it was pointless. "Yes. She means a great deal to me, and I want to see her freed from this curse."

"I understand." Something gleamed in the back of the Sorceress' eyes. She reached up with a delicate hand, lifting Frederick's chin as she met his gaze. "It is not easy, to fight against such steep odds. But when we do it for those we care most deeply for, the struggle is much easier to bear."

The Aen Saevherne released the Witcher, turning to step away from him a few paces.

"I will help you, young Griffin." She declared. "Not for Filippa, nor for the Redanians, but for the bond you share with the young Princess. And in exchange, you will aid me in fighting Gildarts. I have need of a Source such as yourself in breaking the sigils he has placed upon the castle, and I have a strong sense that, before the end, you shall have a large part to play in bringing the magister low."

"Th-thank you, Lady Findabair!" Frederick stammered, relief pouring off him in tangible waves. "I shall go and inform Lady Eilhart immediately, and begin preparations."

"You do that, Frederick." Francesca murmured.

Shoulders dropping as all the tension escaped from his body, Frederick turned with a spring in his step, making for the castle swiftly. Before he had even gone two paces, the she-Elf's voice caused him to stop in his tracks.

"One thing you must bear in mind, young Witcher..." As he turned, he noticed her icy blue gaze upon him once more. "No matter the power we bring to bear, no matter how much you will this to succeed, there is a very real chance that this curse cannot be broken. Even the Magi of old, such as Alzur, could not find a way to break a curse of lycanthropy. Even as we give our all to this, you must accept the strong possibility that is shall fail. I hope that, if this does come to pass, your heart will be able to bear it."

Frederick nodded silently, turning once again to leave with a much more muted feeling in his chest. Much as he didn't want to dwell on it, Lady Francesca's words, along with the warnings of so many other Witchers in the castle, sat heavily upon his mind. Through it all, the image of Liva, her soft, gentle features untarnished by the burden of her suffering, shone through. Focusing on that, the young Griffin solidified his resolve, clinging to it like a rock. He would succeed, no matter what the others thought. The curse would be lifted, and Liva would be free. There could be no other outcome. He would not allow it.

Straightening, chest puffed out with the bold certainty of his thoughts, the Nightsaber made his way back to the castle.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun had barely managed to crawl its way past the looming shape of Kaer Tiele's walls, a few radiant beams touching down on the ancient cobbles, when Frederick emerged from the main doors, stretching as he banished the last few vestiges of sleep from his mind. Somewhere close by, Jaeger and Issa were drilling the younger adepts, some form of old Skelligan exercise regime.

Stifling a yawn, the Griffin apprentice scanned the courtyard until he spotted a small knot of people gathered in the shadow of the gatehouse. The resplendent colours of Filippa and Francesca's dresses were easy to spot, leaving the other figures with them seemingly drab and lifeless in comparison.

Frederick felt his brows twitch as he took in the three figures gathered with the sorceresses. One sat on a stone bench next to the wall, hunched over himself. Master Sid was easy to recognise, his lanky frame and close-shaved hair somewhat unique among the Witchers, the Signs Master more slight of frame than the multitude of Bears and Wolves he found himself mingling with. His hand gripped a long staff, a walking aid that he now used, and one of the signs of the strange affliction of blindness that burdened him, the other being the vacant, empty stare of his dark eyes. The Signs Master had been rendered sightless only recently, presumably a side effect of one of his notorious fisstech binges.

Most curious of all, though, were the other two figures huddled in conversation with the Sorceresses. Their matching fair hair was easy to spot, along with their complementary, elegant sets of armour. The Twins. Frederick knew only enough about them to be cautious. They were known throughout the School as deadly, efficient fighters, Bastian of Belhaven's chosen disciples. Of the two, Seanna, the girl, was the more approachable. Fennet, the boy, was quiet, aloof, distant at all times. The young Nightsaber had never had the chance to interact with them directly, but had heard enough in rumours to give them a respectful distance.

As the Griffin walked into the courtyard, the huddled group glanced over to him. Lady Filippa turned back to the twins, muttering a few swift words before dismissing them while Francesca, with a gentle tilt of her head, beckoned Frederick over. The Nightsaber watched the Twins leave as he approached, curious about what they could have been discussing.

"Frederick." Filippa graced him with a smile, thin, cold, but also somehow genuine, as though the Sourceress was genuinely pleased to see him. "I trust you are well this morning?"

"But of course, my Lady Eilhart." Frederick replied. A lie, of course. The nightmares had struck again through the night, robbing him of any peace. But etiquette required him to be pleasant. "I am pleased to see both you and Lady Findabair here. Lady Francesca has informed you that she will be aiding us with the efforts to cure Liv- the princess?"

"Yes, I am most pleased to have the aid of such an esteemed colleague. Well done, Frederick. I doubt there has been a collaboration such as this in well over a century." Filippa turned to Francesca, her smile razor-thin. The she-Elf merely bowed her head, her smile much warmer, more real.

"Anything for a sister of the arts." She turned her gaze to Frederick. "We have been discussing Filippa's plan to break the curse. It is... crude, but it does have potential. Although I am concerned about the risks to the princess."

"Risks?" Frederick felt a stone form in his gut. "What risks? What are you planning to do?"

"The curse has created a split in Liva's soul." Filippa explained smoothly. "There is the Human part of her, the princess we all know by day, and there is a bestial part of her, the Wolf that emerges under certain conditions. If we cannot excise or suppress the Wolf, then we must enable Liva to control it. We must reconcile the two halves of her soul into one, functional whole."

"And how do we do that?" Frederick asked.

"The two halves must be manifested at the same time, merged together, and control be given to Liva's Human half. The Wolf must be broken, forced to obey her will."

"Hang on, but that would mean she'd still be... still have the Wolf inside her." The Griffin frowned. "How does this help us?"

"The Wolf cannot be removed." The Redanian Sourceress explained. "Without finding the cause of the curse, it cannot be lifted. We have tried, since she first manifest the Wolf, to determine the cause, to find out who may have cast this dark magic, but to no avail. I fear we shall never learn who did this to her. So instead, we must learn to control the curse, to shackle the Wolf, permanently."

"Which means we must first summon it forth." Francesca interjected. "While simultaneously keeping Liva from receding back into her mind. The two halves must confront one another, so that one might be subjugated, made servant to the other."

"There is an old ritual that can do this." Filippa resumed. "It requires a few components and a great deal of power. We will summon forth the two halves, using the essence of flame and water, as well as the spiritual energy of Fennet and Seanna. Francesca and I shall then use our energy to influence the balance of power between the Wolf and Human halves. I, of course, shall channel my spirit and strength into Liva's Human half, while Francesca shall be a conduit for the bestaial energy of the Wolf, channeling its rage and hunger and helping to tame it."

"I am to be the Wolf?" Francesca asked, lips twisting just a fraction, although whether from irritation or distaste, Frederick could not tell. Filippa glanced to her, a wide-eyed look of innocence on her features, although she could not fully hide the vindictive flash in her gleaming eyes.

"You disagree, my sister?" Her words oozed with honey. "It only makes sense for me to provide power for the Human half. After all, I am Human."

"That may be true." Francesca allowed through clenched teeth. "But it's also true that you, of all of those in the College of Sorcerers, have the greatest mastery over transformative magics, specifically those that allow you to assume the form of beasts and the like." The Aen Saevherne's eyes flickered as a little wry twitch pulled at the corner of her mouth. "After all, were you not able to assume an owl's form for many months last year?"

"My knowledge of such magics is broad, of course." Frederick could almost feel the sparks leaping from Filippa's skin as she maintained her composure, the barbed comment on the incident at Kaer Marter where the Redanian Sorceress had trapped herself in an owl's body clearly touching a nerve. "But a Wolf and an owl are very different, almost as different as an Elf from a human. The Aen Seidhe are renowned for their connections to nature, the elements and the world in general. The Aen Saevherne, even more so. It just makes sense for you to channel the Wolf."

"Perhaps we should not be the ones to decide this matter." Francesca suggested. "We are very close to the matter, and sometimes the advice of an outsider can help to shed new light on an issue." She turned to face the young Nightsaber. "Frederick. You strike me as a man of intelligence, a thinker and a scholar, and your history of studying the magical arts puts you in a good position to understand the issue. Who do you think should channel the Human half?"

"Yes, Frederick." Lady Eilhart's eyes rested heavily on the Nightsaber, daggers that pierced through him. "What are your thoughts?"

Frederick's jaw hung open slackly, words failing to rise into his mouth. He realised that he walked a very perilous tightrope between the pair, a pawn in this strange power play. No matter who he picked, he risked losing favour with one or the other. He glanced to each of them, then between them, to Sid, sitting on the bench with a grin on his face that could only be described as 'shit-eating'.

"Uhh..." He hesitated. "Well, I... think this is a decision that cannot be rushed. We are talking about Liva's welfare, after all. We should make sure we give her the best shot at survival. Perhaps if I talk to you both, then we think things over, we might determine the best possible solution?"

Silence hung in the air for a moment, before Filippa sighed, a wry smile on her lips.

"Ever the diplomat." She smirked. "Very well, Frederick. But don't deliberate too long. As you so rightly pointed out, it's Liva's life that hangs in the balance."

With this decided, the two Sorceresses nodded to one another before turning on their heels, gliding apart with equal measures of grace and authority. Frederick turned to look at each one before letting out a little frustrated sigh. At this, Master Sid let out a short, barking laugh.

"You know how to get yourself into some real shitty situations, Frederick!" He chuckled. "Placing yourself between two Sorceresses? I won't deny the attraction of that position, but you're playing with wildfire, here!"

"I know." Frederick groaned as he sank onto the stone bench beside the blind Master. "If Travis could see me now... he'd probably tell me to run for the horizon, and then keep on running. What am I supposed to do? I thought I had these two ready to work together, but now they're ready to abandon Liva, all because of their pride?"

"Any Sorceress is a powerful woman, Frederick, but their egos do control them, in a way." Sid explained, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They're always looking for ways to gain power, be it through magic, or through influence over others. These two were always going to use the ritual as a way to show their superior skill, especially to one another. You've just become a tool to help them with this agenda."

"So how do I get them to work together?" The Griffin leaned his head back, looking to the sky questioningly.

"You've got to understand the game they're playing with one another, and simply play it better." Sid grinned. "Find a way to make them both think that they are winning, and they will give it their all."

Frederick nodded, turning to glance at the retreating backs of the two women. His mind raced. After a long, ponderous silence, he thanked the Signs Master before standing. He had work to do.

~o~0~o~

By the time that Frederick caught up with Filippa, the Redanian Sorceress had seated herself on one of the benches in the castle's main courtyard. On the table, a fine crystal decanter filled with ruby red liquid glistened in the morning sun. A silver goblet, stem styled to resemble the leg of some kind of bird of prey, talons clutching the bowl of the goblet elegantly. It took Frederick a moment to realise that, rather than an eagle or hawk, it was likely that the goblet was meant to resemble an owl's talons, Lady Eilhart's favoured avian form. The sorceress sipped daintily from the goblet, before turning to the young Griffin.

"I am a little disappointed in you, young Frederick." Her words were sharp, but her tone remained even, soft, like a parent talking to a disobedient but favoured child. "I'd thought that you, of all people, would have seen the folly in Francesca's idea of her being the one to channel the Human side of the ritual. The very notion of an Elf having the knowledge needed to perform such an act! I hoped that you, of all those present here, would have spoken up at that point and sided with me. Perhaps you are not as perceptive as I had thought."

Frederick listened to her words carefully, but he was not fooled by her reprimand. She meant to cow him, to make him doubt himself and submit to her opinion. He would not break so easily.

"It is a difficult choice, Lady Filippa." He replied. "Both sides of the ritual have many risks, and will ask much of the casters."

"Which is why it's all the more important that I handle the Human elements. We must assign our skills as they are most appropriate!"

"And that's why I actually think that you would fare better in channeling the Wolf, my Lady." Frederick said carefully.

"Is that so?" Ice shimmered in the words, and in her blue eyes, now fixed on Frederick as the goblet rose to her lips once more. A long, slow draught of her wine, and the gentle knock of the silver coming to rest on the wood of the table was all Frederick could hear for several moments. "So, you believe that I have more in common with the wild beast, can relate better to a feral monster than to other people? I thought you had a higher opinion of me than that, Witcher."

The sudden use of his profession rather than his name was not lost on the young Nightsaber. Regardless, he moved forward with his explanation, praying that his words would be enough.

"It's is nothing of the sort, Lady Eilhart!" He interjected. "It is simply that, I do not believe that Lady Francesca is up to the task of taming the Wolf."

"Oh?" Filippa's eyebrow quirked at this. "Explain."

"You said to me that we must tame the Wolf during this ritual, force it to submit to our will and, eventually, to Liva's. If we are to break the beast's spirit, to bend it to our desires, this will require a great deal of strength and firmness. Lady Francesca... lacks these qualities, in my opinion. When I look at her, I see a genteel demeanour, someone who may not have the sheer iron will needed to shackle the Wolf."

"And when you look at me, you see differently?" Filippa now turned bodily to face him, her full attention on the Griffin.

"When I look at you, my lady, I see a... a hardness to you. Like a diamond. You have this unbreakable quality to you, this steely resolve that will not give way." Frederick met her eyes, broadcasting as much sincerity as he could muster. "That is what will be needed in this ritual, Lady Filippa. That is the key to defeating the Wolf, for good."

"I see..." Filippa cupped her chin for a moment. "A diamond... I like that."

She stood, snapping her fingers. As she did so, the decanter and goblet vanished, fading like morning mist.

"Alright, Frederick, we'll do things your way. I will play the part of the Wolf in the ritual, you have my word."

Frederick relaxed, shoulders slumping with relief. He nodded his thanks before turning to leave.

"Oh, but Frederick?" Filippa interjected swiftly, her words freezing the Witcher in place. "As much of a pleasure as it is to hear you use that silver tongue of yours, you should be careful how you use it. One of these days, it will be your undoing."

With this said, the sorceress released the Griffin, allowing him to quickly scuttle away, heart pounding in his throat.

~o~0~o~

The upper terrace of the castle was empty, save for the lone figure of Lady Francesca. The Elven sorceress leaned on the outward facing wall, seemingly untouched by the chill breeze that whipped across the exposed stonework of Kaer Tiele. She did not turn as Frederick ascended the nearest staircase to join her.

As Frederick glanced out past the Aen Saevherne, he paused to take in the sight of the castle's surroundings. From this position, one could look out across the canopy of the forest in all directions, the hilltop that the ancient fortification occupied causing it to loom over the countryside with ease. Trees almost completely covered the landscape in all directions, stretching towards distant horizons. Faint outlines of the mountains of Mahakam could be seen far to the north, while to the east, a small break in the trees marked the passage of the Dyfne River. The young Griffin looked to that waterway with a pang of longing. Somewhere further up its course was his home, the Aedirnian town of Asheberg. A momentary homesickness clutched at him. In an instant, the feeling passed, the Nightsaber clearing his mind of the wistful thoughts and instead turning to regard Lady Francesca. Almost as if sensing his attention turning to her, the she-Elf chose that moment to speak up.

"There was once a time that my people ruled these lands. These ancient keeps were our work, and we lived in harmony with the land around us." She sighed. "It was a bountiful time for us, before the human expansion. Before... before many things, if I am honest."

"Much has changed for the Aen Seidhe, that is true." Frederick agreed cautiously.

Even for one as young as him, the White Rose Rebellions were still a recent and painful memory. As much compassion as he had for the Elves, he still remembered the parents who, one day many years ago, left their farmstead never to return, their son left to fend for himself on the cobbled streets of Asheberg.

Francesca spared him a sideways glance, as if she could read his thoughts. Perhaps that was exactly what she was doing.

"I see much in your past, young Witcher. Much pain and suffering. And yet still you strive to leave the world better than you found it. Perhaps it is because of that pain. Is that why you fight so hard to help the Princess?"

"She does not deserve this curse." Frederick replied quickly. "She should have a chance at a normal life."

"With you, perhaps?" The sorceress smiled warmly, but with a tinge of sadness. "You come from utterly different worlds. Much as you care for her, you must recognise this."

"I expect nothing for myself." Even as he felt the cold grey feeling the words created in his heart, Frederick fought to keep his composure steady, stoic. "What matters is her wellbeing."

"Very well." It was clear that the Aen Saevherne was unconvinced, but she had the tact to not press the matter. "Then what of the ritual? Have you thought over who would be the best choice for either half of the ritual?"

"I have." Frederick glanced over the wall, looking down to see a group of adepts jogging down a trail that wound its way around the castle, Jaeger bellowing threats and encouragement behind them. "Lady Filippa will fulfill the part of the Wolf. I have already talked the matter over with her, and she is ready to do her part."

"Indeed?" The she-elf's brow rose questioningly. "I am curious what you might have said or offered to her to get her to agree to that. Filippa Eilhart is notoriously difficult to persuade to any course of action she does not choose for herself."

"Simple honesty and reason, my Lady." Frederick replied modesty. "I truly believe that this is the best way for us to divide our resources."

"And you believe that I am best suited to handle the Human half of the ritual?" Francesca turned to fully face him. "Many of your kind would not agree."

"There are few of my kind who have had as many dealings with sorceresses, or the Aen Seidhe, as I have." Frederick answered. "The Human side of things will require a more... a more gentle touch... than the Wolf. Liva is to be encouraged, strengthened. Filippa can be stern, somewhat abrasive, but I sense in you a more nurturing side that will be key to the energies we try to channel."

"After only knowing me for a few days, you are ready to make such a judgement?" Francesca asked curiously.

"I'm usually a very good judge of character." Frederick shrugged. "I trust you, Lady Findabair. Your compassion is easy to see, as is your power."

"My power..." Francesca chuckled quietly. "You still have many things to learn, Frederick of Asheberg. You still think that power can solve everything. Do you know what my power achieved the last time I faced Gildarts?" She regarded Frederick's blank expression for just a second before continuing. "In my arrogance, my over-confidence, I assumed that I could stop him by myself. It is known that the Elves have studied magic for far longer than any human, and our longer lifespans allow us to amass far more power over centuries, so I assumed that my power would be enough."

She stepped away from the wall, beginning to pace back and forth.

"I was wrong. Gildarts used trickery that I did not expect, secret techniques that I had not learned, to catch me unawares. While I was off-balance, he managed to tip the balance in his favour, and ultimately I was captured, imprisoned, my powers suppressed." She paused to rub at her wrists, as if recalling some form of shackles. "Without my 'power', I was left at his mercy. I endured many indignities, many insults, while his prisoner. I think he hoped to break my spirit. But I endured. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me broken, a shell of my former self. I held strong, knowing that, one day, I would be free and able to strike back at him. Eventually, my faith was rewarded, as my allies rescued me from his clutches. Once I was away from his influence, my powers returned, but in their absence, I learned a valuable lesson."

She turned to face the Nightsaber once more, the young Griffin held rapt by her tale. He tilted his head curiously, eager to hear more.

"Power, no matter how vast, can be taken away. Those who rely on it will be brought low." She underlined her point with a firm gesture. "What matters, in any endeavour, is strength. The strength of your spirit, the strength of your resolve, the strength of your heart. That is how we will defeat Gildarts, and it is also how we will break this curse. Remember that, Frederick. You share a bond with the princess, and you will be a source of strength for her in the coming trial."

"I- I understand, Lady Findabair." Frederick nodded. "Thank you."

"I will do what I can to teach her the strength needed during the ritual, I promise you this." The sorceress spoke solemnly. "Although nothing will be guaranteed, I will give it my all."

"That is all I could ever ask for, my Lady." Frederick bowed his head gratefully. The Aen Saevherne smiled warmly at him.

"It will be evening soon, my Witcher friend." She said gently. "You should go find your comrades. Tomorrow, we prepare for the ritual. Spend what time you can with your friends, and with the princess. When the time comes, I will need your full focus."

With that, the Nightsaber bowed again before the sorceress, before turning and descending the steps once more. Behind him, Francesca watched the Witcher, hand cupping her chin ponderously.


	11. Chapter 11

The sun had barely risen over Kaer Tiele, allowing a chilling, ethereal mist to crawl around the ancient castle's battlements. In a deep, shadowy corner under the looming walls of the fortress, a single lonely fire burned bravely, surrounded by a motley collection of figures.

Frederick looked around at the assembled Nightsabers, still bleary-eyed and somewhat dazed from Njall abruptly rousing them, with only a few words on needing them for 'something important' by way of explanation. Now, the gruff Skelliger looked over his adepts with a stern eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but then paused, his attention drawn to a point behind them. The Nightsabers turned, to see Dirk there. Njall released a grunt, part surprise, part irritation.

"Dirk." His voice grumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were gathering the Nightsabers for some reason." The Griffin Master replied. "I know it wasn't for a great deal of time, but I did lead the group for a while. I figured I should be a part of whatever this is."

For a moment, Njall looked as though he might send the other Master away. Frederick drew in a breath, ready to step to his mentor's defence, but then the Bear Master sighed, shoulders dropping.

"No, you make a good point. You led these students while I could not. You deserve to be here." he turned back to the group, who shuffled a little to make room for the Griffin Master. "You all know what's coming. The Temerians prepare to attack, and Gildarts is making ready whatever scheme he has in store for us. The time will come, very soon, where we will need to either fight, or flee."

The Nightsabers stiffened at this. For a group such as this one, the thought of turning tail and running was equally as unpalatable as staying and facing certain death. Njall did not allow them too long to dwell upon the thought.

"Whatever happens, we will all need to be strong, sometimes in ways we did not expect. Nothing can hold us back, but neither can we forsake those around us. In the times to come, we must not forget our bonds to each other, our brotherhood here, in the Nightsabers. No matter what the other Witchers choose to do, we need to have each others' backs."

He knelt by the fire, picking up an as-yet unburned stick. He looked it over with a critical eye, nodding his satisfaction.

"There is an old Skelligan ritual that can help with this. A way for you to let go of the burdens of the past, and commit to supporting one another. Find something, anything, that will burn."

The Nightsabers set about their task, swiftly returning. Frederick found a piece of wood about a foot in length that he could almost feel was calling to him. He twirled it between his hands as he rejoined the group. Njall looked around with an approving nod, noting that even Dirk had chosen to participate, a pinecone held in his palm.

The Bear Master knelt next to the fire, holding a hand out over it. A few words escaped his lips, too low for Frederick to hear, but the young Griffin could feel the surge of magical energy that suddenly filled the flames. Njall lifted his eyes, the feral yellow gaze gleaming in the morning's half-light.

"Take what you have found, and cast it into the fire while speaking aloud something you wish to forget, something you need to let go of. The flames will take away those memories, those feelings, those burdens, and leave your mind and heart lighter, ready to move on."

Petir moved towards the flame. The tall, normally quiet Nightsaber stared into the flames. After a long moment, his deep, steady voice spoke out.

"I have nothing I wish to be rid of. My failures, my weaknesses, my memories make me who I am today. I will not part with them."

Frederick's fellow Nightsaber cast aside the fragment of discarded wood he had found, stepping back, and it was Dirk's turn. The Griffin Master stepped up, words clearly lining up on his tongue. The pinecone rotated between his fingers as he considered something, before his eyes turned towards Njall.

"This secret... we must speak it out loud?"

"Yes." The Bear Master affirmed. "You need to trust your fellow Nightsabers with what troubles you."

"Then I, too, have nothing to say." Dirk threw the pinecone away, and turned to leave, but Hilda's sputtered protest forced him to halt mid-step.

"You don't trust us?" The Skelligan Witcheress challenged the Master.

Hilda glared at Dirk, then at Petir. Neither Griffin Witcher answered the young Bear Witcheress' challenge, until Dirk wordlessly turned to leave. Hilda's brow furrowed, and she took a step to follow him, but Njall raised a hand, stopping her.

"Let him go." The towering Witcher murmured. "He doesn't have to stay with us if he does not wish to."

Hilda opened her mouth to protest, but then only shook her head, turning back to the fire. The russet-coloured leaf she held in her hand, broad and flat, was held over the fire as her eyes reflected the shimmering flames. With a sigh, she released the leaf, watching as it turned to glowing embers.

"I choose to let go of my family. Their politics, their schemes, their demands of me. From this day on, I am a Witcher of the Path."

This said, she stepped back, and her step seemed to become much lighter. It felt as though the Skelliger had become a full foot taller, some great burden vanishing for her shoulders. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and when she opened them again, a new light shone out of her. Njall nodded quietly, a grim but warm pride in his expression, and turned to the next of the Nightsabers. Eventually, after the other Witchers had spoken their piece, Njall turned to Frederick.

The young Griffin stepped forward, turning his gaze to the fire. He paused, as a surge of energy filled him, connecting him to the flames. For a long, quiet moment, the flickering orange tongues showed him his past. The accident, back in Asheberg. His failure to stop the other Nightsabers in their plot to kill a fellow Witcher and his summary exile. Master Arainne, bleeding out on the table during the Trials he had encouraged her to undergo. Jodok, dead on the cobblestones of Kaer Marter, and Frederick powerless to do anything to help him. All of the moments when he'd failed. All of the times that fear, or anger, or guilt had seized him, controlled him. He lifted his chosen offering, taking a deep breath, then dropping it into the fire.

"While I don't forsake the experiences that made me into the Witcher I have become, I let go of the fear and guilt that once controlled me." Before him, the fire released a few brilliant sparks. "I'm done hesitating, being afraid, and holding back from doing the right thing."

Njall tilted his head curiously at the young Griffin's statement. He and Frederick had never agreed on the choices the Skelligan Master had made for the Nightsabers, and the rift between them had only widened after Frederick had chosen to become Dirk's apprentice. After a quiet moment, the Master turned back to the fire.

"Alright then. Now, follow my lead, and make an oath, a promise to your fellow Nightsabers."

The Witcher Master knelt next to the fire, selecting a piece of charcoal from the glowing embers. He lifted the smoking fragment and, with a mild grunt of pain, pressed it against his forehead, drawing a line down, over his eye and cheek until finally coming to a halt at his jawline. The black mark left behind was vivid, the soot somehow seeping deep into the skin. When the Witcher spoke again, his voice was low, solemn.

"I swear to never betray my students, and do whatever I can to keep them safe."

All around the fire, the remaining Nightsabers mimicked their Master, uttering a variety of solemn oaths. Frederick looked back to the fire, a warm lump of charcoal in his hand. He pondered what oath to make, considering all those in his life, and how his choice could effect them. For a moment, he heard Jodok's voice in the back of his mind, telling him of the burdens of a Witcher's life and the responsibilities he would face. He heard Dirk, guiding him in the pursuit of knowledge and teaching him how best to protect the Witchers as a profession. Bastian, with his ideals of loyalty and discipline. Njall, stressing the merits of strength. Arainne, with her many talks on wisdom and forethought. But then, amongst all these voices, a single one caught his attention. Liva, her voice trembling with fear of what fate might await her, an unjust fate put upon her. In moments, Frederick found his oath.

"I will protect those that I love." He swore. "For as long as I draw breath, they will never come to harm, and I will lay down my life to keep them safe."

He drew the charcoal down across his face, wincing as he felt the black soot staining his flesh, a mild burning sensation. He looked back to Njall, who spoke once more.

"If you ever break these oaths, the marks will become scars, and any Skelliger will recognise you as a breaker of oaths. But, more important than that, these marks will serve as a reminder of the promises you have made to one another, the duty you have as friends, shield brothers, family. A Nightsaber will never stand alone, as long as he honours his oaths."

This said, the gruff Witcher turned and marched away. In moments, the other Nightsabers also dispersed, talking among themselves about the coming day's lessons. Frederick, meanwhile, remained next to the fire, ponderously touching the black line that crossed his features. he glanced up at the silhouette of the castle, a nervous knot growing in his belly. Today was the day they would perform the ritual to save the princess, and his oath would face its first test.

~o~0~o~

The sun had risen fully, casting its first few rays of light over Kaer Tiele's rooftops. Somewhere nearby, the sounds of Master Tyr running his fencing drills could be heard. Elsewhere, Dirk barked orders at a class of fresh adepts, teaching them basic Signcraft. Normally, Frederick would have joined him, helping his Master to pass on their knowledge to the new recruits. But not today.

The fire that Njall had lit was now little more than glowing embers, a few errant wisps of smoke rising into the morning breeze. The young Griffin Witcher remained by the fireside, kneeling as he meditated.

A crunching leaf was the first sign of her presence, her timid footsteps easy to identify. Her velvet dress rustled quietly, but to the Witcher's ears it was easy to detect. He slowly descended from his trance-like state, opening his eyes and turning to look to her, a warm smile on his lips.

"Liva." The word sent a deep warmth through him. The princess, seeing his smile, returned it, although her step was still hesitant.

"The other Nightsabers said I could find you out here. I hope you don't mind..."

"Not at all." Frederick was quick to assure her, rising to his feet. "Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?"

"I just-" Liva hesitated, clasping her hands together anxiously as she looked back to the castle looming behind her. "Lady Filippa has told me we will begin the ritual later today, at sundown. I wanted to get away from the castle, take some time to breathe before... whatever happens." She paused, drawing a timorous breath. "I'd hoped... that I might be able to do that with you."

"It would be my pleasure." Frederick replied warmly, internally joyed to hear her say those words.

Without waiting for a further word, Frederick quickly removed his cloak, spreading it on the grass next to the fire to allow the princess to sit down. He then quickly gathered a few more branches and sticks for the fire, a quick gesture of his hand casting an Igni Sign to breathe additional life into the flames. Liva sat on the cloak, watching the Witcher with a gentle smile. As he finished, turning to kneel next to her, her brow suddenly furrowed. A delicate white hand reached up to brush the Witcher's cheek, touching the inky black mark.

"What's that?" She asked, worry creasing her features, her voice rising in consternation. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

"Its fine." Frederick reached up to grasp her hand, drawing it away from the mark. He pressed her hand between his own, amazed at the coolness of her skin compared to his own palms. "It's just a mark. A ritual Njall had the Nightsabers perform."

"Oh? Some kind of Witcher custom?"

"Not exactly." Frederick answered. "It was a Skelligan rite, from what I understand. We marked ourselves while making an oath. The mark is there to remind us of and hold us to that promise."

"What did you promise?" Liva asked curiously.

Frederick paused, glancing down at the princess' hand between his own. His thumb rubbed along the length of hers, and he realised just how small her hands were in comparison to his own. His rough calluses contrasted sharply with her silken smooth grasp. A child of an entirely different life, one he would never know or understand. His emotions boiled inside his chest, but the logic of his brain told him it would be futile to give them a voice. What could come of it?

And yet, here, in this place and time, did it really matter? The smoke of the Temerian campfires could be seen rising above the forest canopy, could be smelled on the morning's breeze. Gildarts stalked the castle at will, swearing lethal retribution on the Witchers. All Witchers, regardless of allegiance, school or past deeds. And now, the evening's ritual hung heavily over the pair, full of risks. Would there ever be another moment like this, for either of them? Finally, his mind was made up. His fear and hesitation was gone, burned away in the fires of Njall's rite.

"I promised to protect those I love." He stared into her emerald green eyes as he spoke. "To make sure no harm comes to them, no matter what it costs me."

"Those you love?" The princess returned his gaze, something sparkling deep in her eyes. She shifted, drawing a little closer to the Witcher.

"Yes." Frederick affirmed. He felt her hand clench, squeezing his own.

Behind them, a loud bang echoed over the castle's walls. the pair turned, noting a billowing cloud of purple-coloured smoke, accompanied by a string of curses that could only have come from Vester. Frederick smirked at the Alchemy Master's antics, shaking his head as he turned back to Liva, who shared his amused smile. As the smoke dispersed, the Redanian princess released a small sigh.

"If only we had more time..." She murmured morosely.

"Perhaps we can." Frederick reasoned. "Once the ritual is complete, and the curse is broken..."

"I doubt my father's court would allow me free reign to be with whomever I choose." She answered bitterly. "Always controlling my life, making choices for me. Being free of the curse won't change that. Likely they'll start looking for a suitable match for me among the princes of the continent. Someone politically convenient for my father to marry me off to..." A dark light glimmered in her eyes. "I've never even seen the world. Always lived in some cage or another."

"Then maybe the ritual will be a chance to change that." Frederick suggested. "I mean, once you are free of the curse, is there anywhere you've ever wanted to go?"

"Well..." Liva considered for a moment. "I've heard that the ballrooms of Beauclair are without equal. The women there were such beautiful gowns, and dance the nights away to the most talented musicians."

"Then you'll get your chance to go there. We both will." Frederick promised. "Once the curse is lifted, I'll take you to Touissaint myself. I'll accompany you, as your protector."

"That sounds perfect." Liva sighed, a warm light filling her expression. "If the ritual works..."

"It will." Frederick assured, pointing to his face with a wry smile. "I made a promise, remember?"

"I hope you're right..."

She shivered a little, although whether it was nerves over the ritual, or the chill in the air, Frederick couldn't tell. He shifted a little closer, placing a gentle arm across her shoulders. The princess leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. After a long moment of staring at the flames, she spoke out again.

"You were once apprenticed to a Mage, weren't you?"

"Well... not exactly." Frederick answered. "I was more of a servant than an actual student. I dusted shelves, cleaned glassware, and bought supplies at market. Hardly the work of a Sorcerer."

"But still, you must have seen enough of the magical arts to have some understanding of it. Can you think of anything that will help me, today?"

"Hmm..." Frederick paused, thinking. "Well, one of the principle tenets of magic is intention. If you're performing any kind of spell or ritual, you need to be certain that the outcome you desire is going to happen. You have to 'know' that you will succeed. The magical energies are sensitive to your thoughts, and your emotions. So, the best thing you can do, is be confident that this is going to work."

"And you think that will be enough?" She sounded unconvinced.

"It will be an important part. We'll be putting all of our energy and intention into this ritual, so we'll need you to do the same from your end." Frederick turned to look at her, meeting her gaze again. "You need to want it to succeed, with all your heart and mind. Focus on the life you will have after the curse is lifted, like you are already living it. How badly do you want that life?"

"With all my heart." She answered, squeezing in closer to the Witcher.

"Then we will succeed. We have two of the most powerful magic users, a whole school of adepts ready to help." Frederick tightened his arm around her shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "I promise you, this time tomorrow, you'll finally be free."

"I'll hold you to that promise." Liva smiled up at the Witcher. "But for now, let's forget about the ritual. Whatever happens later today, I want you to have at least some nice memories of me."

"I assure you, my lady, any memories that have you in them are the best ones I've ever known." Frederick looked into the princess' eyes, suddenly aware of her closeness.

"Well," She whispered, a sudden gleam igniting in her gaze as she moved closer to the Witcher, their lips now mere inches apart. "How about we make one more nice memory together?"

Their lips met in a tender kiss, warmth blossoming in Frederick's chest at the contact. In that moment, the young Witcher of Asheberg's life became perfect, complete.

Silence fell across the glade as time stopped for the pair.


	12. Chapter 12

Twilight enveloped the castle, its velvety caress brushing across the walls of the keep with a silent whisper. Outside the mouldering walls, a small knot of adepts had been gathered, close to one of the magical places of power that graced the castle's surroundings. Frederick, standing among them, shivered in the cooling evening. The shadow of the castle stretched over the assembled Witchers, a threatening presence over their heads.

In the midst of the students, Master Sid stood quietly, clutching a bottle of clear liquid. Frederick couldn't help but look at the glass bottle with trepidation. Something about it seemed off to him. Whenever he glanced at it, a malignant gleam within the seemingly innocent liquid twinkled brightly. He could feel an aura of malice oozing from the bottle, waves of heat flowing from it that warmed the blood and set the heart racing. Whatever lurked in that bottle, it was potent, violent, and not at all pleasant. The fact that the blind Master carefully avoided allowing any adept to even come near to it only further added to Frederick's suspicions about its contents.

Almost as if sensing the young Griffin's eyes on him, the Signs Master straightened, head turning this way and that as he exposed one ear then the other to different sounds around himself.

"Frederick?" He called out. "Is Frederick here?"

At the Master's summons, the Nightsaber quickly moved closer.

"I'm here." He answered. "What is it, Sid?"

"I need you to hold this." He extended the hand holding the bottle. "Whatever you do, don't let anyone touch it. Don't even let them open it."

"What's in there?" Frederick asked warily, not even reaching for the proffered bottle.

"Pure rage." Sid smiled excitedly. "Its needed for the ritual, to summon the wolf. A potion imbued with rage, hatred, hunger, passion, all the essences of the beast within. I took a few adepts to the place of power connected to the elemental plane of Fire. We channelled all of our fiery emotions into the potion, until it boiled and shone with white fire. Its only just cooled enough to handle, but its still extremely potent. The unprepared mind could easily be overwhelmed, and fall into a reckless frenzy. You, as a Griffin, should have the mental fortitude to resist its effects. Your meditative rituals and magical exercises make you especially resistant to it, like me, so you should be able to bear it without any ill effects."

Somewhat surprised by the Master's candid explanation, Frederick carefully reached out, taking hold of the bottle. The instant his fingertips found the glass, a shock of energy surged up his arm, his brain filling with white-hot light as his heart began to pound its way out of his chest. In that moment, everything about the Nightsaber was enhanced, amplified. His mind raced, as his body swelled with fire. Behind it all, his emotions blazed, swamping him. He staggered a little under the barrage, head spinning. In a single second, he could feel it all. Grief, rage, guilt, fear... his oath at the Nightsabers' fire meant nothing next to this blazing inferno. He glanced down to the bottle, subtle whispers seeping through its glass.

"You deserved better." The voices murmured in his ear, sounding eerily similar to his own. "You should have better. You need to take what is owed to you. The power, the respect, the fear. You must seize it! Fuck them. Fuck them all! What has anyone ever done for you? Its time. Time to take a stand, and get what you want from life. Show them all. Make them pay!"

The voices rose in volume, now a roar in the Griffin's ears. He clenched his eyes closed, trying to drown them out, but they only grew louder. The Nightsaber began to groan, losing himself.

Then, through all of the fire and rage and chaos, voices began reaching out, calm and focused. He could hear Dirk, lecturing him on focus and clarity. Arainne and her lessons on peace. And finally, Jodok.

"As a Witcher, it is all too common for us to lose ourselves to our mutations." His gentle but firm tone cut through all the others. Frederick instantly recognised the lesson, one he had learned long ago, in a wooded glade near Kaer Marter. "We lose control of our emotions, become less than Human. Usually, this happens if we completely remove our emotions. But, sometimes, it happens when we totally give ourselves to those emotions, let the bestial urges take over. As a Witcher, you are both Human and Monster. You must walk the line without losing yourself to your darker side. You must keep hold of what makes you Human."

"How?" Frederick, in the here and now, moved his lips silently around the question he had asked back then, still adapting to his mutations. "The anger, the fire, the madness, its all so loud..."

"Find an anchor." The Wolf Master had answered. "Something to connect you to your Human side, without holding you down. Find something that sparks a fire in you similar to the one the Monster half wants you to embrace, but this time for a more noble, Human purpose. Draw strength from that flame instead."

The memory passed, like mist on the wind, and Frederick was back in the present. He swallowed the lump of fury in his throat, crushing it down, and began to search. An anchor. Something that lit a fire in his heart, without sending him down the path of bestial wrath...

Liva. In an instant, he had his answer. Her face appeared in his mind's eye. Her smile, her eyes, the innocent, vulnerable moments they had spent together. A spark leapt in his breast, kindling within him until it rose into a blazing inferno, beating back the dark, fearsome influence of the potion.

Hands shaking, he opened his eyes, seeing the bottle in his hand glow with renewed light. It was becoming quite warm in his palm, but strangely didn't burn him. As he gazed into the clear fluid, he could feel the power of his inner flame connecting with the potion, fuelling it, changing it. The liquid sapped at his energy, taking what he felt and making it a part of itself.

Confused, dazed, more than a little surprised, he looked up to see Sid still standing there, a knowing smirk on his face even as his blank eyes stared sightlessly past the Griffin. Frederick could feel the Master looking out with eyes not of the physical plane, seeing the flow of energy around the Nightsaber. He let out a satisfied grunt, nodding as his lips took on a firm set.

"Excellent. That should do it." He reached out, taking the bottle back. He let out a low whistle as his fingers touched the glass. "Whoo! That's quite the kick you gave it!"

"You knew that would happen." It wasn't a question, not even an accusation. It was just a statement of fact from the Griffin. "Why do that to me?"

"The potion was almost complete, but it still needed a little... more." The blind Master explained. "Some extra fuel for the flames. Nothing burns quite as brightly as love, real and unconditional."

Frederick opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. No. Anything to help Liva was an acceptable price, as far as he was concerned. Sid, seeming to sense his emotions, reached out with a clumsy hand to pat the Nightsaber on the shoulder, before shuffling past him, staff tapping the ground as he walked.

Frederick turned to watch him go, then noticed movement beyond the blind Master. Past the edge of the circle of gathered adepts, a small procession had left the castle, marching towards the place of power. Dirk led the way, a stern expression on his face as he shooed adepts out of the way. the Griffin Master wore his usual armour, cloak draped across his shoulders to guard against the evening's chills and, Frederick noted with more than a little anxiety, a silver sword sitting at his hip.

Behind Dirk, the two Sorceresses stalked gracefully. For a moment, Frederick had to admit that he was utterly floored. Both had adorned themselves in ceremonial dresses befitting their portions of the ritual.

Francesca, choosing to represent and call forth the Human half of the Princess, wore a flowing white gown, bound at the waist with a simple cord. A gold torc girded her throat, the only ornamentation she wore. Her fiery red hair, normally arranged in a delicate style, was now completely loose and free, wild as the forest that surrounded the castle. In all, her visage was one of purity, innocence, utterly gentle.

Filippa, meanwhile, channelled the aspect of the Wolf, donning a midnight-black dress that hugged her figure closely, emphasising every feminine contour. A plunging neckline and exposed shoulders exuded raw sensual energy, primitive in nature. A necklace set with jet-black stones encircled her neck, while a silver chain girded her narrow waist. The end result was a far more primal, fierce visage.

Behind the pair, the Twins, Fennet and Seanna, could be seen, wearing their matching armour and dark hoods to hide their golden hair. The pair each held a chain in one hand, attached to- Frederick bristled at the sight- a silent and downcast Liva.

The Princess, head bowed, bore her chains without a word. Her dress, a simple, white gown, was light and loose. She wore no jewellery, and her hair had not been arranged in any style, instead left loose, but, unlike Francesca's, hers was wild, unkempt. The mark upon her chest, previously hidden to onlookers by high necklines and careful arrangement of her garb, was now openly visible. No more hiding, no more pretence. Just the situation at hand, and the grim task ahead.

The Twins led her through the parting crowd of Witchers, guiding her to the centre of the place of power, where they drove two large metal spikes deep into the soil, then affixed the chains. The Princess obediently knelt in the dirt, caring not for the state of her white dress. She looked up, scanning the crowd briefly before her eyes alighted upon Frederick. Light flickered in her gaze upon spotting him, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips, an attempt at bravery, in spite of the circumstances. Frederick offered a reassuring smile in return, wishing he could speak out from the crowd, but realising that would not be appropriate, not with the task everyone, including him, was assembled there to do.

Frederick was pulled from his pensive thoughts as Francesca stepped out in front of the Witchers, clasping her hands together as she began to talk.

"Thank you all for coming." She began, her sky-blue eyes roving over the gathered Witchers. "We have asked for your aid today in a most difficult task- lifting the curse that affects Princess Liva of Redania. As you know, she is affected with the curse of lycanthropy, the Werewolf's curse. Unfortunately, the cause of this curse is unknown, and thus is cannot be broken by traditional methods. Which means that we will have to resort to..." She paused, turning to glance to Lady Filippa, who only responded with a bold, almost haughty stare. "Unconventional means."

At this point, the Redanian Sorceress stepped forward, taking over.

"Having access to the powers of two Sorceresses, as well as the energy and willpower of all those gathered here today. combined with the raw elemental energy of this place, I believe that we can forcibly break this curse." The black-clad Sorceress began to pace in front of the Princess. "The Princess' soul is split in two by the curse. We will reunite them. We shall summon forth both halves, the woman and the beast, and then merge them, enforcing Liva's control over the wolf. In this way, the two halves become one whole, and the curse is broken."

"To do this, we will need two groups." Francesca resumed speaking. "One half will grant energy and support to Lady Filippa. She has gracefully volunteered to channel and summon the wolf."

At this, Filippa allowed her lips to peel back from her teeth in a reasonable facsimile of a smile. The irritable gleam in her eyes, though, was not lost on Frederick. regardless, Francesca continued.

"While I shall need a group to support me in channelling and supporting Liva's Human side, giving her the strength to dominate and subdue the beast." The Aen Saevherne explained, before pointing to the waiting adepts. "Please, split yourself into two groups."

The cluster of waiting adepts divided, moving to either side of the Princess. As they split, Frederick found himself among those heading towards Lady Filippa, and the Wolf half of the ritual. As he moved, a slender hand gripped his shoulder. he turned to see Lady Francesca looking up at him, her sharp eyes gleaming in the fading light of the day.

"You, I need over on this side." She tilted her head towards the other group of Witchers, the 'Human' side.

At first, Frederick was uncertain what the She-elf wanted. Was this another play between the two Sorceresses, with Lady Findabair wanting a former Source of magic like himself for her own purposes? He opened his mouth to raise a question, but the Sorceress' gaze flickered to the side, a clear sign. He followed her eyes, finding himself looking at Liva, gazing up at him with wide, fearful eyes, and then he realised Francesca's intent. Clearly, nothing had escaped the Sorceress' attention, and his emotional investment would be of far more use in her half of the ritual. He nodded, meekly moving to join the others.

As the adepts gathered in their two groups, the Sorceresses gestured for them to kneel. Then, they turned to the waiting Twins, whispering to them. After a brief exchange, Filippa called out to Master Sid, who hobbled over, giving them the bottle he'd been nursing, the elixir of fire and rage. Seanna took the bottle with a nod, stiffening a little as her hands touched it, but otherwise remaining unaffected. Frederick was unsurprised. The Twins had always seemed far more in control of their emotional state than almost any other adept in the castle.

Next, Fennet knelt next to Liva, his cold, dispassionate eyes meeting hers. She shifted uncomfortably, but did not protest. The Cat School adept, utterly silent, drew a knife from his belt. Frederick felt a surge of panic in his chest, worry choking his throat as he started, moving to leap to his feet, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced back to see Dirk there, a cautionary glare in his eyes.

"Hold." He instructed sharply. "This is a part of the process. Don't let your heart rule your mind here, Frederick."

Still uneasy, the Griffin apprentice turned back to the proceedings, just in time to see Fennet cut off a lock of Liva's red hair. The Cat Witcher then stood, turning back to the Sorceresses. Francesca nodded her approval. She stepped in front of the Princess, turning once more to the adepts.

"I will recite the spell to give Liva dominance over the Wolf." Francesca explained. "Filippa shall follow my lead, and teach the Wolf submission to Liva. All we need from you is to channel your energy into us. The Human side, focus on the emotions of hope, kindness, courage. Give to Liva everything that she will need to rule the beast. The Wolf side should focus on dominating the beast, forcing it into submission. Do what you must to make the beast obey. Use your rage, your resilience, and your might. Channel that to Filippa."

She turned away, facing Liva. As she met the Princess' eye, Liva nodded her readiness. The Aen Saevherne raised her hands to the sky.

"Aesa mehvar bellaen..." She began to chant.

Frederick instantly felt the pressure build inside his heat, his tongue tasting the electric tingle of magic on the air. Immeasurable forces shifted beneath the skin of the world, powerful, unreadable, fearsome. The former Mage's apprentice had never witnessed the like before. Not during his time with Travis Jon. Not when he'd helped release Filippa from the body of an owl, not even when he'd dabbled in necromantic magics with Filippa. This was a spell on an entirely new level for him. The only time he could think of in recent memory when he'd felt a comparable energy, was when faced with the spell of madness that Gildarts had placed on Kaer Marter and its Masters. Even then, this somehow felt more potent. Back in front of the Princess, Francesca continued to call out to the world around her.

"We gather here, at the hour of twilight, the precipice between night and day, to sunder the curse that holds this woman in its claws." Her voice, while not shouting, was so very loud, booming, commanding. It travelled far, stilling the air for miles around. She turned her gaze to the Twins. "Let blood shared within the womb be spilled."

At her words, without flinching, the Twins drew their knives, running the blades across their palms. Fennet's facial expression didn't even shift a fraction of an inch, although the corners of Seanna's eyes did crease just a little. The pair held their bleeding hands out towards the Princess, allowing several fat, red drops to fall into the dirt before Liva. Francesca continued her chant.

"En'caenne velsaerne Liva bahrenne..." Her head tilted back. Far above, the clouds in the sky swirled, while the sun danced on the edge of the horizon. "By blood that is twinned, may these two beings be summoned forth. With hair, burned in the flame and given to the sky."

Filippa stepped up, hands moving in a graceful arc to conjure a ball of flame between her palms. Fennet, still holding the lock of hair, moved over to her, casting the hair into the flames. They burned, a plume of black and purple smoke rising into the sky.

Behind them, the Princess sagged in her chains, slumping forward a little. Her muscles twitched, spasmed. Frederick could feel the magical energies of the world flowing into her, a new opening in her spirit allowing all the arcane power swirling around them to seek refuge within her, under Francesca's careful guidance. The power flowed like a vast river, eddies and currents swallowing up the assembled crowd, all flowing into a vortex around the Princess. Frederick, his senses attuned to such things, felt his third eye pulse, almost painful as he perceived the vast amount of power around them. It was like looking at the sun. Francesca, continued chanting.

"Ca'elle forvaenne bleidd laedenn..." A hand shot out, fingers reaching towards Liva's slumped form. "With water, imbued with wrath!"

At this, Seanna stepped up, uncorking and upending the bottle over the Princess. Liva shivered, then began to convulse. Steam began to rise from her exposed skin, while she began to cough violently, gobbets of blood flecked through with black bile spattering her dress. Frederick tensed, but knew there was nothing he could do. The magical energy surrounding the Princess was reaching a crescendo. He could feel it surging around him, penetrating his mind, saturating his body. With this much energy in the air, he doubted that he could muster the strength to stand, let alone get closer to the epicentre of the arcane maelstrom.

In the centre of the ritual, Liva continued to convulse. Then, suddenly, she went still as a statue. For a long moment, she did not move. Then, as Francesca continued her chanting, she raised her head, and within her eyes there was no humanity, only the bloody rage of the Wolf. She looked about hungrily, eyes finding Frederick quickly. Her gaze narrowed as a growl dragged her teeth back from her lips in a hungry snarl. No, not hungry, Frederick realised. Hateful. She lunged, straining against her chains as she snapped her teeth, unleashing a howl of fury. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the predatory behaviour vanished, and Liva was back, scared, panicking, glancing to Frederick pleadingly. The switch happened a few more times, before the body that housed them seemed to become trapped in a state between the two, the pair fighting for control.

"They are both manifest!" Francesca moved to join her group of adepts. "Focus your energies, and follow our lead!"

Francesca began to recite the spell, more of a melody than a simple chain of words. To Frederick's ear, the words practically danced with power. He could feel them sway and move as the She-elf uttered them, weaving the vast magical energy around her to her designs. He focused, staring directly at Liva as he summoned forth every once of hope, courage and confidence he could muster. He looked to her, the woman he loved, and felt all of that raw, unstoppable emotion surge within him like a tidal wave, allowing it to release into the spellwork that Francesca was creating. As his heart and mind connected with the spell, he felt Francesca's words rise inside him, could see them written inside his mind, and he, too, began to chant, singing and projecting these words that he'd never seen before, could barely understand. Next to him, another adept began to utter the incantation, too, then another, and another. In moments, the entire Human half of the ritual was reciting the spell in perfect harmony, led by Francesca. The Aen Saevherne seemed to swell with power, connected to and drawing from each one of them as well as the world beneath her feet. For a long, glorious second, Frederick imagined he saw a goddess, an omnipotent being performing a great and terrible work.

On the other side of the ritual, Filippa, too, began to chant, replicating Francesca's portion of the spell. Soon, her adepts, Hilda and Anselm among them, began to chant, too, adding their voices to the ritual. Filippa began to move her hands in complex gestures, working with the invisible energies in her own way. Frederick felt the tug on his own spirit as her influence entered the ritual, equally as powerful, equally as beautiful. Equally as terrifying. Above it all, the sun slowly continued to slip beneath the horizon, night rolling in around them.

In the centre of the ritual, Liva writhed in her chains. The steam rising from her body thickened, rising in greater and greater plumes. Something halfway between a scream and a howl escaped her throat, dropping into a low whine mingled with a pained sob. Tears streaked her face, black droplets working their way from her eyes down her cheeks. She wrenched against the chains, striving to break them, but lacked the strength to do so. Frederick, through his arcane senses, could feel the two entities within her, fighting for dominance. The Wolf, wild, primal, ferocious, and her, scared, wounded, brave. The young Griffin sent another wave of energy through the link towards her, bolstering her with his spirit to stand against the beast.

It was only after he turned his attention away from Liva and back to the Sorceresses that he heard it. The discordant note. On Filippa's side of the ritual, something was happening. The words she uttered, they didn't match those that came from Francesca's mouth. The melody was... wrong. Off. Frederick could feel the energy she exuded, the energy she shared with her group of adepts. Something was wrong. The power felt twisted, sickened. Frederick opened his eyes, shocked at what he saw.

The adepts on the Wolf side of the ritual had fallen on all fours. They snarled and roared, like beasts. Anselm, the broad-shouldered leader of the Frostwolves, growled ferally, every inch like the Wolf he sometimes emulated with his group's characteristic warcry. Beside him, Hilda fared no better. Her face was twisted into a rictus of rage. Her eyes blazed with a bloody red light as she clawed at the dirt with her fingers.

Fear filling his heart, dread quick to follow it, Frederick looked to Francesca. The Aen Saevherne returned his gaze, worry clear in her sky-blue eyes. She took a deep breath, calling upon deep, long-untapped reserves of power to try and drown out the discordant note of the other half of the ritual. Frederick felt himself get light-headed as energies he never knew he had access to were drained. Next to him, the other adepts began to sway, struggling to cling to consciousness. Frederick, swaying, light-headed, struggled to keep his mind clear and sharp, focusing on the last fragment of sunlight that hovered over the horizon.

Barely staying conscious, Frederick turned back to the ritual. He looked to Liva, the young woman now curled up on the ground, rocking. Purple smoke began to rise from her skin as the magic saturating her body sought a release. In seconds, she vanished from view. Eyes growing wide, mind racing with panic, Frederick looked to the other side of the ritual, to the howling, roaring adepts taken by the ferocity of the Wolf, to Hilda, almost completely lost to her rage, then to Filippa, whereupon his heart stuttered. The Sorceress stood there, reciting the chant, but her face remained utterly emotionless, unmoved by the chaos around her, seemingly oblivious to the discordant note she was weaving into the ritual. And yet, everything Frederick knew about her, about her proficiency and her ability, told him that this shouldn't be happening, that it couldn't be happening. The incantation, while potent, was easy to follow, even for an uninitiated one such as the Nightsaber. What was going on in her mind? How could she not see what was happening?

From within the cloud, a heart-wrenching scream tore loose from the Princess' throat, the silence fell. All at once, every adept was released from the spell's clutches, dropping to the ground. Frederick, barely able to hold himself on all fours, gasped for air. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the billowing cloud of smoke, as did all the others. Far above, the last rays of sunlight slipped away, night falling at last.

The chains, emerging from the smoke to meet their anchors in the soil, shifted with a soft clink. In the dissipating smoke, a shape moved slowly, groggily. The chains moved again, then, with a swift tug, the steel links snapped.

"Fucking hell..." Dirk, until this point remaining at a safe distance behind the adepts and away from the ritual, leapt forward, silver blade already in his hand as he passed the winded Witchers.

"RUN!" He bellowed as, with a terrible roar, the Werewolf charged out of the smoke.


	13. Chapter 13

The Werewolf barrelled out of the smoke, a snarl on her lips as she lunged at the scattering Witchers. Frederick leapt to his feet, a dismayed shout on his tongue. Unarmed, he reached for the only thing that he could use in this situation, his Witcher's medallion. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a Quen barrier around himself.

The beast lunged forwards, blood-flecked foam at her lips. At first, she made a beeline for Francesca, presumably wanting to kill the influence that had been trying to help Liva gain control. A wall of Witchers closed in around the Aen Saevherne, their ranks suddenly bristling with a wide array of weapons. The wolf charged, but the sheer number of Witchers drove it back, slicing and jabbing with both steel and silver. As the beast staggered back a step, Dirk was there, sword moving with fluid grace to attack. The Griffin Master moved with incredible speed, his swordplay enhanced by skilful use of the Quen and Aard Signs. The Werewolf, recognising the Witcher behind the blade, growled in fury, backing away from the silver edge of his weapon. She had just enough presence of mind to realise that she couldn't break through such a defence, instead turning her gaze to weaker prey.

The rest of the ritual had dissolved into chaos, the adepts crushing together in panic. Some wielded weapons, trying to get closer to the beast, while those without strove to get away, by any means necessary. In the midst of it all, pinned on either side by fleeing Witchers, was Sid.

The Werewolf launched itself at the blind Master before anyone could react, knocking him to the ground. A savage swipe of her claws shattered his staff and ripped through cloth, tearing open the flesh of his arm. The Signs Master let loose a pained howl, lashing out with a poorly aimed Aard.

Before the monster that had been Liva could retaliate, another large figure leapt from the crowd. The broad-shouldered Anselm, leader of the Frostwolves, tackled the hulking beast bare-handed, throwing her off the prone Master. He launched himself at her, taking a swing with a left, then a right. He managed to connect with a couple of punches, before the beast caught one of his arms by the wrist, her claws digging into his flesh. Slowly, inexorably, she twisted the arm back, forcing Anselm to bend back with it or have the bones snap. The Wolf Witcher growled at the beast, clenching his teeth to hide his pain. He took another swing with his free hand, but the blows barely had any impact. With a snarl of hungry rage, the Werewolf lashed out, her free claws slashing at his face and neck. The Frostwolf went down with a pained cry, Liva falling upon him with predatory malice.

Frederick rushed in, Dirk by his side. Together, the pair summoned up a surge of power, focusing it into a synchronised Aard Sign that threw the Werewolf back and away from Anselm. The two Griffins stepped forward, until Dirk directed a sideways glance at his apprentice.

"Get the wounded out of here." He commanded, steel in his voice.

"I should stay." Frederick insisted. To many, it would have seemed like a statement of loyalty to his Master, but the young Nightsaber knew better, eyeing the Werewolf carefully.

"With no sword?" Dirk stated more than asked. "No. Get Sid and Anselm and all of the other adepts out of here. This is no fight for an inexperienced Witcher."

Frederick felt the slight in his Master's words, instinctively wanting to protest, but then a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. He turned to be confronted by Francesca's sky-blue gaze. The she-Elf's eyes gleamed with determination, but also with more than a little regret.

"Go, Frederick." She urged, her words heavy.. "We'll handle Liva."

With that, the Sorceress, joined by Lady Filippa, turned towards the Werewolf, already chanting some arcane incantation as her hands traced graceful shapes in the air. The two powerful women moved forward as one, casting their spell together, while Dirk contended with the beast, holding her at bay with all of his Witcher's skills.

Frederick turned away, kneeling down to help the fallen Witchers to their feet. Anselm, batting away his proffered hand, struggled to stand by himself, while Sid more readily accepted the aid. The Nightsaber called for assistance, then began urging the adepts back towards the keep. Somebody stepped in to help the stumbling Sid up the slope towards the castle's gates, allowing Frederick a moment to turn and glance back towards the ritual site. He caught a glimpse of the two Sorceresses moving in closer to the hunched form of the Werewolf, Dirk now holding back as the magical energies built around the beast. Purple light flickered around her, and then Frederick's view was obscured as the crowd of adepts pressed together, dragging him with them through the gates and into the castle.

~o~0~o~

A large crowd of adepts had gathered in the castle's courtyard, hushed whispers passing between them as they discussed the recent catastrophe. Over the hubbub, Lennart barked at the Witchers, trying to maintain some semblance of order, but the Witchers were too distracted. Hushed rumours and whispered thoughts passed between them like wildfire.

In their midst, Frederick paced uneasily. It had been some minutes since the sounds of magic and the howls of the Werewolf had quietened down, giving no clue to what had happened. All kinds of scenarios leapt into the young Nightsaber's head, none of them hopeful as his stomach filled with nervous fire.

Anxiously, he raised his head to look about, seeking some familiar face, someone he could speak with, but no one presented themselves. To one side, the Twins talked together, their expressions grim. In another corner of the courtyard, Baron Vulko could be seen talking to some of his subordinates. All around, adepts he did not recognise spoke in quiet tones.

With a loud clatter, the gates swung open, drawing the gaze of everyone there. In between the heavy wooden doors, the three shapes of Lady Filippa, Lady Francesca and Dirk walked with heavy shoulders. In the Griffin Master's arms lay the limp form of Liva. Frederick felt his insides lurch. Without a care, the young Griffin pushed his way through the crowd, bursting out to rush to his Master's side. Heedless of the eyes watching him, he quickly ran up, immediately taking a closer look at the Princess.

Liva had returned to her Human form, much to the Griffin's relief. She hung limply from Dirk's arms, the subtle shift of her ribs as she drew in a shallow breath the only sign of life. As Frederick reached out to touch her cheek, he felt the tingle of magic around her, the remnants of whatever power the Sorceresses had used to return her to that shape. Her skin was pale, an icy chill gripping her flesh. Frederick was distressed to note the drops of blood that marred the corners of her mouth, as well as the bloody stains on her fingers. Her white dress now hung from her small frame in ragged scraps.

Dirk pushed past his apprentice, carrying the limp form over to the far side of the courtyard, where Lester, the blacksmith, had set up his workshop, a series of soot-stained tents and awnings with a number of wide tables arrayed under them. A quick sweep of Dirk's hand cleared one table, laying the unconscious girl down gently. Frederick was instantly by her side, looking for any signs of trauma.

"What happened?" He asked, carefully brushing the hair away from her face. He reached down to one of his belt pouches, looking for a scrap of cloth, a bandage, something that could wipe away the blood.

"Frederick..." Dirk tried to interject, his voice weary.

"Did she take a knock to the head?" The Nightsaber continued to fuss over her, not even looking up as his Master spoke. "I think I have some smelling salts in my satchel. Maybe one of the adepts could-"

"Frederick-" The elder Griffin's voice was more firm, insistent.

"She's cold." Frederick muttered, before raising his voice. "Somebody get me a cloak!"

"Frederick!" Dirk snapped, his bark bouncing off the castle's walls.

Finally, the younger Witcher's eyes turned to his Master, a steely flash, defiant, gleaming in his glare. Dirk was unmoved, his own stare stern, although still a little sympathetic.

"The ritual failed." It was three words that made a deep, dark hole open in Frederick's heart. Knowing that now was not the time for sweetening the truth, Dirk pressed on. "We gave it our all, but it wasn't enough. Maybe it never could be. But now, the damage cannot be reversed. You know what needs to be done. What our Witcher duties call for."

"No..." Frederick trembled, still leaning over the Princess. His body shifted, almost seeming to cast a protective shadow over her. "There's still hope. There's more we can do. We just-"

"We've already tried everything, Frederick." Dirk kept his voice gentle. "There's only one more thing we can do."

Behind the Griffin Master, the Baron, Vulko, moved forwards, drawing a small, silver edged knife from a hidden sheath on his person. Frederick caught the flash of shimmering metal, and snarled, fury rising in his throat.

"Put that away, before I use it on you." His eyes burned with desperate rage, teeth bared in a feral growl.

"You heard your Master." The Baron shrugged. "She's a monster, one that must be dispatched before she hurts anyone else."

"I-" The words snagged in the young Witcher's throat. He looked about desperately, seeing so many concerned faces watching him warily. Hilda, her eyes wide with sorrow and apologies. Anselm, still bleeding, pity and resignation in his stare. The Twins, unreadable as ever. Francesca, a regretful twist to her ruby red lips. And, behind them all, Lennart, his eyes flashing with stern caution and a single clear message. 'I warned you.', those eyes proclaimed. 'It was always going to end this way.'

Frederick could feel the tears beginning to rise, but he obstinately drove them back. No. To begin to mourn would be to admit defeat. He just needed to-

The explosion rocked the entire castle, reverberating deep down into the mountain below. Everybody started at the noise, looking about in fear and confusion. A deep, booming laughter echoed throughout every hall and passageway, as though the entire keep had become the throat of a gargantuan, mocking demon.

"Oh, what a pity..."

The snide, leering voice was instantly, easily recognised. Anyone who had once been an adept of Kaer Marter immediately knew the voice of Gildarts Pran of Maribor, and felt a swell of hatred and wrath in the pit of their stomach.

Strutting like a peacock, the rogue Magister appeared on one of the castle's walls, black and gold smoke billowing around him as he grinned down at the awe-struck Witchers.

"Yet another failure for the pitiful Witchers." He grinned down on them, the magical scars on his face glowing brightly. "You cannot even break a simple curse? How pathetic."

With a final cackle, the Mage vanished in another swirl of smoke, his taunting laughter echoing after him as, down below, a number of Witchers burst into action, racing towards the wall. Gedymin, flames in his eyes, already had both his daggers drawn. Jaeger, meanwhile, raced for the nearest set of stairs with no weapon other than his bare fists, a roar in his chest as he ran. The other adepts, almost to the last man, rushed to follow them. Behind the commotion, Dirk stayed motionless, tracing magical symbols in the gravel at his feet, ready to cast protective magics should the need arise. Next to him, Frederick stood ready to cast Signs of his own, should the Magister's attention have turned to the two Griffins, or to the limp form of the Redanian Princess.

In moments, the charging Witchers reached the walls, only to let out frustrated cries and snarls as the smoke cleared with Gildarts nowhere to be seen. Slowly, the adepts filed back into the courtyard. Once the commotion had died down, the Magus clearly not planning on returning in the near future, Frederick turned back to Liva. Or, rather, the table where she had once lain.

The apprentice Witcher's heart skipped a beat as he rushed over, looking about for any sign of the Princess. Sharp ears listened carefully, before a small scraping noise reached them. Frederick turned to the source of the noise, catching the cloth covering on one of the tables twitching as something moved beneath. He swiftly moved over, pulling it back to reveal the girl crawling under the table, trying her best to hide away.

"Liva!" Frederick's chest swelled with warmth as he knelt down, offering her a gentle smile. "Its okay. Its me. No need to be scared."

The girl remained under the table, her expression wary, eyes darting between him and the throng of adepts behind him. Fear shone in the wide, emerald eyes, while her red lips twisted downwards. For a moment, her gaze settled on Frederick, softening somewhat, before the barriers of fear rose again. She snarled, scuttling back away from him, until her back struck one of the table legs. Backed into a corner, the girl pressed herself up against the table leg, keeping as far away from the Witchers as possible.

"Liva...?" Frederick moved a little forward, but a snarl from the girl's lips stopped him cold. "Its me, Frederick. You know me. You can trust me. Don't be afraid, please."

The girl did not answer, uncertainly looking at the crowding adepts again. Her eyes turned back to Frederick, and what he saw there chilled him to the bone. Bestial instincts ran rampant, predatory cunning mixed with animal fear and wild hunger. No rational thought remained within those eyes, only a wolf, free and unfettered by the Human who had once held her in check.

Cold reality sunk into Frederick's mind slowly. The girl, the Princess, the woman he loved- that was not who controlled the body anymore. Almost no evidence of Liva remained, just an animal in the shell of her body. His gut sank at the sudden knowledge, tears once more dancing in the corners of his eyes. Still he kept her gaze, searching for even a hint of the person he had once known.

"Liva, please..." His voice shuddered, the words hoarse knives in his throat. "Give me something. Anything!"

And then, just as he uttered those words, he saw it. Just a flash, somewhere deep inside those green eyes, now tinted with blood red. A flicker of the girl, trapped deep within. And with that flicker, a single request, a simple but powerful wish. Please. End it.

Frederick felt the breath leave his body, his head floating unsteadily as he realised the only option that lay before him. In that single moment, his entire life coalesced into a singular purpose. He allowed a single heartbeat to still his raging emotions. Then, with an utterly still, dead tone, he spoke to his Master.

"Dirk, I need your knife."

The Griffin Master nodded, reaching for his hunting knife without a word. Behind him, however, the other adepts were not so accepting of his words.

"Frederick, you can't-!"

"You're too close to the situation-"

"We should-"

"Don't do it-!"

The voices rose in a storm, but then fell silent as Lennart let loose a short, sharp bark of command.

"Quiet!" He said. "Let him do what needs to be done."

The commotion washed over Frederick's head, even the Master's words failing to reach his ears. All Frederick could see was the girl before him. All he could feel was the hilt of the knife in his hand. All he could hear was the rushing of the blood in his veins.

Still crouching, Frederick reached under the table, extending his empty hand. He offered the girl a small, comforting smile, nodding reassuringly to her.

"Come on, Liva." He whispered softly, hiding the creak of agony in his voice.

Warily, sniffing the air and testing her way with every movement, the girl crawled toward the Griffin on all fours. She moved awkwardly, as if unsure of how to control the body she now inhabited. Her lips drew back from her teeth as she regarded the Witchers surrounding them, but relaxed a little as Frederick released another comforting word from his throat. Slowly, she drew near to him, and the Witcher put his arm around her, drawing her close.

"Its okay." He soothed, feeling her warmth as she nuzzled at his shoulder, sniffing him carefully.

He ran his fingers through her fiery hair. In response to his gentle touch, she relaxed further, melting into his embrace. Still he continued whispering in her ear.

"Its alright. I'm here." The words ached in his mouth. "Its going to be okay, just like I promised."

She pressed her head back into his hand, relishing the contact. Her emerald eyes closed, a soft sigh mixing with a whimper as it escaped her lips. Trembling, Frederick softly pressed his lips to her cheek, a tender kiss. Then, bracing himself, his lips moved closer to her ear.

"I love you." His free hand, still gripping Dirk's knife, thrust, driving the silver blade into the back of her skull.

The girl who had once been Liva stiffened in his arms, eyes opening with a shocked light. Her gaze turned to Frederick one last time, pain and surprise apparent for all to see, before that slowly melted away, and gave way to relief and gratitude. Her body slumped in his arms.

Silence fell across the courtyard of Kaer Tiele, pierced only by the Griffin's sobs, and a single sentence, repeated over and over.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."


	14. Chapter 14

Later in the day, many Witchers rushed about, dealing with dozens of different tasks. On one side of the courtyard, Reinicke ran fencing drills, taunting his students with a sardonic, lopsided grin. Somewhere on the walls, Master Ruta could be heard barking out instructions. A few eagle-eyed adepts had noted movement less than a league from the castle's walls. The Temerian army, moving into position and spurring the castle's occupants to scramble their defences. And there, in the middle of the chaos, sat Frederick.

The young Griffin slumped in a quiet corner of the courtyard, the looming silhouette of the keep's walls casting an icy gloom over him. Deep, hollow shadows lurked under his empty eyes as he stared lifelessly ahead. His arms draped over his knees, hands directly in his line of sight. Crimson, still warm, coated his right hand, which still held the bloody blade in trembling fingers. Numbness seized the Nightsaber's mind, while nausea filled his gut. Unblinking, he turned the knife over, the only thing registering in his consciousness being the flashes of light off the silver blade and the way the sticky red droplets that still clung to it gleamed.

It had been some hours now, since the ritual. Since Dirk, with surprising gentleness and tact, had prised the body of the Princess from the grieving Nightsaber's arms, and the grim-faced Filippa had ordered a few adepts to carry the corpse away to the crypt. Frederick, barely even present in his mind, had staggered away until he found this relatively quiet spot, his legs giving out under him as he reached the wall. In time, other adepts had approached him. Anselm, Hilda, Petir and Dana... all had approached, tried to speak with him, then eventually left, shaking their heads at his silence. Eventually, somewhat to the young Griffin's relief, he was left alone with his thoughts.

The first thoughts to assail his mind were those of despair. The memories surfaced to besiege him. Memories of the ritual, of the charging Werewolf, of the terrified look in Liva's eyes just before... before...

His mind shut down the chain of thoughts, unable to relive that exact moment. Instead, a bloom of rage rose in his chest. Rage at the Sorceresses. Rage at Gildarts. Rage at the world. Rage at himself. Questions began asking themselves, threatening to drown the young Witcher. Why? Why didn't the ritual work? What else could he have done? What else should he have done?

In the depths of these dark thoughts, a sound reached Frederick. A rhythmic tapping, followed by the scraping of leather boots on cobblestones. Frederick didn't look up, even as the boots and walking cane stepped up directly before him, visible behind the knife he held. Only as Lennart cleared his throat did the Witcher finally turn his gaze from the blade. The Witcher Master looked down at him, brows weighing heavily over eyes that narrowed as they analysed the Griffin. In that stare, something mysterious glimmered. Not pity, or sorrow, but understanding. It was the closest that Frederick had ever seen the Master come to expressing empathy.

"I warned you of this outcome, Frederick." The Master's voice was harsh, not sparing any emotion. "The girl's fate was sealed long ago."

"I still had to try." Frederick croaked, his throat rasping against the words painfully.

"No, you didn't." The Master began to pace, cane tapping on the cold cobbles. "And yet, you did. Fighting to the bitter end to ease the suffering of another. There are some here who would commend that, who would tell you that such a choice is what it really means to be a Witcher." He scoffed under his breath. "I won't waste my time telling you such idiocy. Witchers are not noble souls, put in this world to protect the innocent and save the weak. We kill monsters, whatever face they wear. That is the start and the end of our duty."

He paused, turning a critical eye to the slumped Witcher.

"I am glad, to see that your love did not kill your sense of duty. I had my doubts." Lennart turned to leave.

"You're wrong." The creaking of Frederick's voice made the Master pause, turning back to face him. The Griffin's eyes now, finally, locked with his own, shining with a deep, inner strength. "It wasn't duty that drove me to do what I had to. I killed her..." The words fought their way out of his throat. "Because I loved her. Because there was nothing else I could do to protect her anymore."

Lennart stood in silence for a long moment, biting his lip. Finally, he sighed.

"Whatever drove your hand, you did the right thing, in the end. I appreciate that. however, we must now face the consequences. A Redanian Princess died on Temerian soil, at the hands of a Witcher. There will be war. Probably why Gildarts engineered her presence here in the first place. And with the blade held by one of our own, the retribution will likely be focused squarely on our Guild."

"No, it won't." Frederick stood, his feet still unsteady under himself. With an effort, he kept his eyes lifted, meeting the Master's gaze. "Whatever the consequences, I will face them. No one else of our Guild will pay for my mistakes. If Radovid demands blood, he can take mine."

"Be wary of what you promise, Frederick." Lennart cautioned. His wary eyes turned back to the courtyard, where Baron Strenger and Hatzel could be seen conversing. He watched the two Temerians for a moment. "This will be a difficult political situation. I will do what I can for you. In the meantime... don't go anywhere alone."

With that, the Master turned, walking slowly away. As Lennart approached the distant Baron, Frederick slumped back against the wall, a weary sigh in his chest. His eyes turned to the ground, head too heavy to stay up.

"Frederick?"

The Witcher hadn't heard Francesca approach, the she-Elf moving with the kind of grace and subtlety expected of her people. She approached him cautiously, a sympathetic light in her gaze. Her ruby lips turned down in a sorrowful expression. She stepped up next to him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. For several instants, she was silent, merely a warm, comforting presence. At last, she drew in a deep breath, before speaking gently to him.

"I know the pain you are experiencing, Frederick." She squeezed his shoulder. "Believe me, I understand. But I'm afraid we have no time for grief at the moment. I have need of your aid."

"I don't know if I can." Frederick said uncertainly.

"I'm sorry. Truly, I am." Sincerity filled her every word. "But I need a magical Source like you. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't truly necessary."

"Alright..." Frederick stowed the knife in his belt then, with a sigh, rubbed his eyes. "What do you need?"

"It would be easier to show you..." The Aen Saevherne turned, leading the way.

~o~0~o~

Quite a large crowd of adepts had gathered on the castle's wall, led by Lady Filippa and Master Sid. They clustered around, talking in anxious, hushed whispers as Frederick and Lady Francesca approached. The crowd parted before the Sorceress, allowing her to walk past with the Griffin in tow. Finally, she came to a halt beyond the crowd, pointing to the smooth, flat stones marking the walkway that girded the keep. Frederick stepped up next to her, looking to where she indicated.

There, on the stones of the walkway, a glowing symbol could be seen. Drawn on the stone in some kind of chalky substance, the shapes and curves radiated a twisted, greenish-purple light. Frederick moved to get a better look, but was held back by Francesca's cautioning hand.

"Be careful." She warned. "Anyone who comes too close to the symbol sickens and dies."

"What is it?" The Griffin asked curiously.

"Ancient magic." Francesca explained gravely. "Far older than anything I've seen before. It is how Gildarts is able to move about the castle as he pleases. He can magically teleport past my defences without my knowledge. There were several of these symbols, hidden throughout the castle, but both Filippa and I have managed to locate each of them and, with the help of the more magically capable adepts, we have broken them all."

"So why not this one?"

"Its the last of Gildarts' sigils, but also his most potent. Each sigil had a rune at its heart, a way to draw energy and power. The others were smaller in scope, weaker. They drew power from things like Strength, Fear, Hope, Freedom, and so on. This one..."

Francesca paused, looking at the sigil again. The symbol pulsed, the light changing slightly to take on a reddish hue. Frederick craned his neck for a better view, focusing on the symbol at its core. When he finally managed to get a better view, and what he saw made his soul lurch. There, at the heart of the sigil, was a rune of pure malevolence. As Frederick watched, the lines seemed to shift and change, as though alive. They radiated aggression, fury and hatred. After a mere instant of looking at it, Frederick could feel sickness swelling in his throat, dizziness and nausea threatening to knock him off his feet. He turned away, wincing, while Francesca caught his shoulder, giving him just enough support to stay upright.

"Its a Rune of Death, from the old magics." She explained. "I'd never seen one drawn before, only heard of them by reputation. This is very ancient, dangerous magic."

"We need to get everyone away from it." Frederick gasped between heavy breaths. Even with his back turned, he could feel the rune's influence, pulling at his mind.

"That is not an option." Francesca replied. "There is nowhere within this castle that we could hide from its effects. The Temerian army masses outside, preventing any escape. For the safety of everyone here, we need to break the sigil and destroy the Rune."

"Okay." Frederick's shoulders sagged a little. "What do you need from me?"

"The only way to break a sigil of this power is to attack it with opposing energies. In this case, we are fighting Death." Francesca turned to Filippa, who stepped forward with her own contribution.

"There is a ritual we can perform to destroy the Rune." The Redanian Sorceress explained. "Two Sources are needed. One embodies Strength, and the other Love. With myself and Lady Findabair supplying guidance and aid, as well as all others here supplying their own stamina to power the ritual, the Sources need to meditate on and touch the Rune. You will then need to focus on that which helps you to embody the aspect that you are channelling, and use your spiritual and magical energy to attack the Rune, destroying its arcane form completely. Once the magical energies are gone, the physical form of the Rune will dissipate."

"You should be warned, this will be very dangerous." Francesca interjected. "The Rune is a mixture of many different forms of magic, including necromancy. You'll find yourself on the threshold between life and death. When the Rune is destroyed, you must be on this side of the threshold, or you will be lost."

"Won't be the first time." Frederick shared a knowing glance with Filippa. The Sorceress remained silent, pensive. Frederick clenched his jaw, determined. "I'm ready to do what needs to be done."

The two Sorceresses regarded him, their eyes wary, but eventually they nodded. Beside Filippa, another adept, one that Frederick knew to be called Amelia, stood ready. Francesca turned to her.

"Amelia will serve as the other Source." She explained. "Each of you must embody one of the aspects of the ritual, Strength and Love. Wh-"

"I choose Strength." Amelia interjected quickly.

"...Good." Francesca turned her gaze to Frederick. "And I believe that you, Frederick, will be best suited to channel the aspect of Love for the ritual. Focus on the memories and emotions that most inspire love within you, and channel that into the ritual."

Frederick nodded silently, and the Sorceresses set to work organising the other adepts around them. He turned to look at the Rune again, and the symbol pulsed in reply, its malignant energies seemingly responding to the Griffin's gaze.

~o~0~o~

It took only a few minutes for the Sorceresses to finish their preparations, casting shielding spells around the minds of those present, burning censers of herbs to fill the air with potent-smelling smoke and drawing symbols of their own around the sigil. Already, a web of power encircled the symbol, magic beginning to flow in strange and unreadable ways. Frederick, kneeling close by and meditating, could feel the arcane eddies swirling around him. He reached out, allowing the power to connect with him, flowing through his mind. He slowed his breathing, trying to summon up some kind of calm. He failed, the turmoil of the day nagging at his thoughts. Instead, his mind would run in circles, chasing deep, dark paths as he ran through a whole array of questions, accusations, and conclusions.

A gentle hand on his shoulder snapped the Griffin out of his trance, bringing him back to the real world and the bustle of activity around him. He looked up to see the adepts split into two groups, Filippa and Amelia standing with one. He looked around to see Francesca at his side, gesturing for him to join the second group.

At the command of the Sorceresses, the two groups approached the sigil from either side. At the front of each procession, Filippa guided Amelia while Francesca guided Frederick. Once in position, the two magical Sources kneeled next to the sigil. All was silent for a moment. Francesca leaned down, her lips close to Frederick's ear as she whispered a few final instructions.

"Remember, your love will be the key to breaking down the Rune. You must focus on that love, on what inspires it within you, and hold tight to it. Draw from it, and allow that power to flow into the Rune, destroying it." She paused, clearly hesitant. When she finally spoke again, her voice was even more hushed. "You're about to step over the threshold between the worlds of the living and the dead. once there, you will be beyond our reach. When the ritual is complete, be sure that you are not still on the other side, or you will not be able to return."

Frederick nodded grimly, looking to the opposite side of the sigil to see Amelia receiving a similar whispered instruction from Filippa. The two Sources locked gazes, then turned their eyes down to the sigil between them.

The symbol glowed a sickly green, clearly reacting to the magical energies gathering around it. Frederick squinted his eyes, trying to focus on the lines of the sigil, but they squirmed and moved under his scrutiny. All at once, he could see letters in an ancient, forgotten script, then ripples of water, then an obscene, glaring eye, then a confusing mass of colour and texture melding together all at once. He could feel the symbol tugging at his mind, trying to undermine his defences and attack him. He shuddered, struggling to keep a grip on his thoughts.

"We'll begin by breaking the Rune's outer defences." Filippa explained, standing over Amelia. "Once you sense an opening, begin to apply your power and intention. We will direct the stamina of the others into you, while you press onwards. Understood?"

As everyone present nodded their assent, the Sorceresses raised their hands, summoning forth their considerable powers. Francesca's voice began to sing, ancient Elven words rising and falling melodically in her throat.

"Ae'shente... Mhi'vallan-e gevhaesse s'raan..."

Frederick closed his eyes, opening up his secondary senses. He could feel the sigil's heat in front of him, malevolent, dangerous. Whereas in the physical world, the sigil was a flat shape on the flagstones underfoot, here in the arcane realm it was a tall, imposing doorway. Ancient black stones formed an arching frame, etched with hideous hieroglyphs. Inside the frame, a heavy wooden door remained sealed. Sinister energies seeped through the doorway, oozing out into the surroundings, poisoning the world around it.

Frederick looked back to see Francesca behind him, emitting magical light like a signal fire. Tendrils of energy reached out from her, brushing across Frederick's spine. A similar web reached out behind her, finding each one of the adepts, connecting them all. A sudden, brilliant bolt of power lashed out from her, striking the sigil. Dark fractures appeared in the door's frame, emitting dark, reddish-purple smoke. Another attack, this time from Filippa, on the other side of the sigil, created another series of fractures in the frame. Finally, after a third, combined attack from the Sorceresses, the frame around the ethereal doorway bowed, and the door itself slipped open. Just a hair's breadth, but that was all that Frederick and Amelia needed. The pair summoned their power, thrusting it through the tiny opening in the magical construct.

Frederick instantly felt the drain on his spirit as he committed to the assault. The Rune, in response to his ethereal touch, fought back, trying to sap at his energy. Frederick grit his teeth, resisting as best as he could. He could feel the power flowing through him, the drain affecting those adepts who had volunteered to lend their own reserves to the ritual. Back in the real world, the Griffin could hear a number of adepts cry out in pain, others in fear, one in utter despair, as the Rune tried to break each and every one of them. They didn't have long before the Rune would leave each one of them drained, empty husks. The Nightsaber redoubled his efforts.

Love. He needed to channel and embody love. He focused his mind, remembering Francesca's instructions to him. There was only one image that could call forth enough determination and resolve to help him. Her face. Liva's. As he called up the memory of her smile, her hair, her eyes, he felt the energy within him flare with brilliant light. His entire body, both physical and astral, swelled with power, pouring it into the Rune. He could feel the sinister symbol reacting, trying to sap at his strength. It assailed him with doubts, accusations, questioning thoughts, and despair, but he held firm. He wouldn't fail here. For the sake of his friends. For the sake of the Guild. For her memory.

The energy flowing from him was now a blinding tide, a torrent of raw power. Beside him, Amelia was similarly channelling a vast amount of energy. Under the combined attack from the pair, the Rune began to crumble. A spider's web of cracks appeared across the surface of the door, the sheer brute force of the attack battering away at it mercilessly.

Still the Rune resisted. The power that had created it was truly immense, giving it an almost limitless reserve of power. Even so, it was beginning to fail, the power behind it being ripped apart by the power of the two Sources.

Then, suddenly, the door gave way and the Rune shattered, unleashing all the energy locked inside of it. The dark, necromantic energy pulsed outwards in a vast gale, assaulting the minds of all those gathered. Francesca and Filippa instinctively raised magical barriers, protecting themselves and the Witchers hidden behind them, but both Frederick and Amelia found themselves taking the brunt of the blast.

Dark energies assaulted the young Nightsaber, sending waves of agony through him. All of his muscles contracted painfully as his joints ground together. In an instant, he felt as though he was ageing decades. Back in the ethereal plane, he could feel his spirit being pulled towards where the Rune had once been, now a gaping wound into which untold magical energy poured. A loud scream tore through the air around him, and only after a few seconds did he realise that it was coming from his own throat.

The Griffin fought against the magics attacking his body, trying his best to stay conscious as what remained of the Rune tore at his mind. Then, with a final, defeated snarl, the remnant of the Rune collapsed, and another blast of energy swept out, striking Frederick and sending him plummeting into unconsciousness.

~o~0~o~

Frederick awoke to a freezing chill in his bones. Swift winds whipped at him, cutting through to his very core. He opened his eyes, taking a moment to survey his surroundings.

The Griffin found himself in the middle of a vast desert, a flat plain of coarse black sand underneath a sky of deepest purple, utterly starless. In the distance, all around, the horizon was ringed by a circle of towering, tooth-like peaks. The desert itself was completely flat and featureless, small zephyrs of wind picking up little handfuls of sand, shifting the black grains in minuscule drifts.

Dread filled him as he recognised the place. He'd been here before, several times. Back during the days following his accident, during the one time he had dabbled in darker magics with Lady Filippa, and more recently during the nightmares sent to him by Gildarts. This was the place beyond the Threshold. The next world. The realm of Death. He must have slipped through before the Rune had fully collapsed.

Frederick rose to his knees, looking about warily. A flicker of movement caught his eye. Hovering about five feet above the desert, a tear hung in the air, a prism of crackling, shimmering light. Frederick stepped up, peering at it. Through the fractured light, he could see something. The walls of Kaer Tiele, a knot of Witchers gathered around the smoking remains of the Rune. To one side, Amelia was on her hands and knees, retching as her body rebelled against her. on the other side, a figure lay prone- Frederick. The Griffin felt a discomforting wave of dizziness as he observed his own body from the outside. As he watched, Filippa and Francesca tended to his body, working to revive him.

The Griffin tried not to shake his head despairingly. No matter what the Sorceresses tried, they would be hard pressed to bring him back with his spirit separated from his body like this. Only Necromancy could reunite body with spirit at this point, something he was sure the two Sorceresses wouldn't be ready to risk.

"They've been trying to revive you for quite some time."

Frederick froze at the voice, shock taking hold of him. Slowly, he turned towards its source, not daring to hope for what he might see.

Liva stood there, hands folded in front of her. A small, gentle smile graced her lips, her emerald eyes gleaming kindly in the half-light of the desert. She wore a white dress, bound at the waist with a simple cord girdle. Her bare feet sank into the black sand.

"Hello, Frederick." She whispered.


	15. Chapter 15

Silence reigned over the dark desert for a long moment, the two figures regarding one another. Liva still wore her warm, gentle smile, while a look of utter astonishment filled Frederick's expression. Finally, the Griffin managed to stutter.

"L-Liva? But... how?"

"You know where we are, Frederick. Surely you can figure it out." The Princess chuckled.

"I- yes, you're right." Frederick lowered his head, feeling his cheeks redden. he took a tentative step forward, reaching out with a timid hand. "Can I-?"

"In this place, I am as real as you, my Griffin." She smiled warmly. "Although we will not have long here."

Frederick rushed forward, enveloping the slight young woman in his arms. The two embraced tightly, silent for a few seconds as they simply breathed together, feeling the warmth and energy with each other. Frederick nuzzled the Princess' fiery locks, breathing in her scent. As he felt her press in close against him, his heart pounded in his chest, warmth filling his body. He could have stayed there for hours, days, eternity, but he knew that would not be possible. Reluctantly, he finally drew away. Tenderly, he placed a hand behind her head as he met her gaze. Tears danced in the corners of his eyes.

"I'm so sorry." He stammered. "I tried, but I-"

"Shh..." Liva reached up, cupping his face between her delicate hands. "Its alright. You did everything you could. And, in the end, you saved me."

"But I-"

"You put an end to my curse, when all hope had been lost." She explained. "You set me free from the wolf in the only way you could." She nodded to the desert around them. "I'm finally free, Frederick. Free from my father and his courts. Free from Sorceresses and their schemes. Most of all, I'm free of the wolf. You did this, my love. You finally gave me peace."

"I wanted things to be different." Frederick struggled with the lump in his throat. "I-"

Liva, a sorrowful look in her eyes, rubbed her thumb across his cheek, catching one of the tears that fell from his eye.

"I know." She soothed. "I'd hoped for a different ending, too. but life doesn't always give us what we wish for. Its up to us to turn what we are given into the best life possible. To grow into the strongest version of ourselves that we can be."

"I don't think I have any strength left." Frederick sighed, allowing his head to slump. "Can't I just be done, and stay here?"

Liva reached up further, her fingers curling in his hair. She pulled on his neck, bringing his head down until their foreheads touched. She offered another reassuring smile.

"You could, if that's what you really wanted." She offered. "You could stay here, with me. Melitele knows, you've done enough in your life to have earned a rest. So many monsters slain, so many lives saved. And now, with Gildarts' rune broken, you've saved the Witchers from another threat."

"Maybe... but they're not out of danger, are they?"

"I doubt they ever will be." The Princess said sorrowfully. "Its a Witcher's fate to face trials all of his life. The Guild, equally so."

Frederick pulled away from her a fraction, glancing back over his shoulder to the rip in the air. It still flickered brightly, emitting beams of white and purple light. Liva tugged on him, drawing his attention back.

"You don't need to go back." She reminded him. "You've done enough. You could rest, forever. But, I don't think you would find peace that way."

"You don't think the retired life is for me?" Frederick felt a small smile tug at his lips.

"Maybe someday." Liva shrugged, her own smile broadening. "But not yet. Knowing that you could have gone back and done more will always weigh on your heart. You wouldn't be my Griffin if it were any other way."

Frederick smiled, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against hers again. He tightened his grip around her, holding the Princess close. Their lips hovered a hair's breadth apart.

"I'll find you again, Little Wolf." Frederick whispered. "I promise."

"I'll hold you to it, my Griffin." Liva smiled, leaning forward just enough to touch her lips to his.

The pair kissed, drawing out the moment for as long as they could. When they finally parted, Frederick could feel the weight pulling down on his heart. Liva gave him an encouraging nod.

"You're running out of time, Frederick." She murmured. "Go. Be the Witcher I love, and save those who need your protection."

Reluctantly, the Nightsaber released her, turning back to the magical tear. Already, he could see the opening beginning to fold in on itself. Through the shrinking aperture, he could see Filippa and Francesca, still tending to his lifeless form.

The Griffin reached out with a wary hand towards the opening.

"Frederick?" The Nightsaber paused, turning back at Liva's call. The Princess offered him a final smile, the winds of the desert whipping at her dress. "Thank you."

The Witcher turned away, thrusting his hand into the swirling magical energies. The opening shimmered, then expanded, magic swirling out to surround the Nightsaber. The power pulled at him, dragging him towards the opening, and the world beyond. He resisted for half a heartbeat, hesitation to leave seizing him once more. Then, with a steadying breath, he stepped through the gap.

The magical winds rushed into a frenzy for a moment as the Witcher vanished from view. Then, with a thunderous shearing sound, the opening collapsed, snapping shut in a blink, and darkness filled the desert once more. There, among the empty dunes, a lonely shape stood for a long, silent moment, before slowly fading, vanishing on the wind. Princess Liva of Redania's final ethereal sigh drifted across the black sands as, at long last, she found lasting peace.

~o~0~o~

Frederick awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright. Lady Francesca, having been leaning over his prone body, almost fell backwards as he rose, surprise clear on her face. In seconds, that surprise gave way to relief as she regained her composure.

"Frederick." She smiled warmly. "You're alright. For a moment there, I thought we had lost you on the other side."

"Almost." The Griffin considered mentioning what he had just seen, but instead held his tongue. "But I'm not ready to die yet."

"Good. I'm gladdened to hear that."

The Aen Saevherne fixed him with a stare that said much. Even though he'd given no hint to Lady Francesca, Frederick realised that she knew what he'd just been through. Understanding gleamed in her gaze. She reached out to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.

Frederick nodded his appreciation, then winced. Something burned on his face. He reached up, feeling a deep contour forming in the flesh. It took him a few moments to realise what it was. Njall's ritual, the mark he had made on his face. With his oath broken, the magics his body had absorbed now manifested in the form of a jagged, hideous scar where the black line had once been. He rubbed at the mark, releasing a weary sigh. Francesca watched him carefully, concern in her eyes.

"Get some rest, Frederick." She urged. "There's still much work ahead for us, and I feel that you will have a significant part to play in things to come."

With a tired groan, Frederick stood, gingerly moving his weary and bruised body. He limped away from the site of the sigil, beaten, in pain, but holding his head high, his gait and stance filled with purpose. The Griffin walked with purpose and strength. And somewhere close by, Frederick knew, emerald green eyes watched him with pride, gratitude and love.


	16. Chapter 16

THREE MONTHS LATER

The carriage rattled loudly, trundling along the well-kept roadway at a steady pace, the weary driver lazily urging his two chestnut mares to keep going as the rising sun brought the day's heat with it. All around, the land of Toussaint glowed in the growing dawn, shades of pink, orange and yellow glimmering across rolling hillsides and meandering valleys. Ahead, the waters of a vast lake gleamed an inviting azure hue, and at its centre, the towering city of Beauclair, narrow spires reaching up to scratch at the sky. Even at this early hour, the land was awakening, peasants already working in the myriad vineyards that filled the surrounding countryside, merchants leading laden carts along the wide roads into the city, and children cavorting joyously in the warm summer morning, sing-song voices sending strange rhymes and ditties into the brightening sky.

All of these details and more reached Frederick's senses within the carriage, the Witcher watching the passing landscape with careful eyes. A sigh escaped from his chest as he surveyed the beauty of the land. It was truly everything he had imagined it to be, everything the books in the libraries of Oxenfurt had promised, and more. A wonderful place to end a journey, he thought wistfully.

A loud yawn from the carriage's other occupant stirred the Griffin School Witcher from his thoughts. Stretched out on the seat opposite Frederick, the younger Witcher Thaddeus, the Griffin's unexpectedly acquired apprentice, opened his eyes groggily as he rotated his head, neck cracking loudly.

"Are we there yet?" He mumbled through weary lips, scratching at the opening of his shirt where his Wolf School medallion lurked. A symbol Frederick tried not to dwell on too much.

"Almost." His Griffin Master replied. "We changed the horses a while back, so we should make good time this morning, and be in the city well before noon."

"And you say that we already have a contract?" Thaddeus raised a questioning eyebrow. "Someone asked for us before we even got here?"

"The School of the Griffin is well known in Toussaint." Frederick explained. "It is thought that our ways somewhat resemble the chivalric values of their knights. Dirk has used this respect to set up a network of contacts down here, a series of places we can go to find work, as well as drop boxes where messages can be passed from one Griffin to another. It was through one such avenue I learned of the Zeugl running amok in the sewers of the city."

"Zeugl?" Thaddeus asked unenthusiastically. "Isn't that the one that smells like-"

"Indeed." Frederick grinned. "So it should be easy to track down, even for a nose as untested as yours, apprentice."

"Mine?" The younger Witcher spoke uncertainly. "You mean you won't be hunting the beast with me?"

"I think you are adequately trained to handle this on your own." The Griffin shrugged. "Besides, how will you learn if I am always holding your hand? That is not the way of our School."

"I see." Thaddeus was nonplussed. "And meanwhile you will be...?"

"I will start by deepening the connections that Dirk has already begun to make." Frederick replied, before his eyes turned to a large, rectangular package that rested on the seat beside him. "And then I have other, more personal business to take care of."

"You never did tell me what you collected in Kovir." The younger Witcher probed. "We made that detour just for this package, what was so important?"

"Like I said- personal business." Frederick's tone was firm, immovable, his expression growing stony. "Just focus on the contract at hand."

The apprentice fell silent at this, used to the response by now. Every time he had tried to probe into the nature of the package, his Master gave the same icy reply. Instead, he turned his attention to outside of the carriage.

"Seems like a beautiful land." He observed.

"Beautiful, but no less dangerous for it." Frederick cautioned. "There are some beasts here that you will find nowhere else on the continent. It will be a good place for you to finish your training."

"So we shall be staying here for a while then?"

"You will." Frederick responded. "I will stay long enough to ensure you are properly established, and then I must leave on the Path once more."

"But, my training-" Thaddeus protested.

"Will continue in my absence." The older Griffin cut him off. "There is little else you could learn just by watching me, imitating my techniques. There is a far wiser mentor you must learn at the feet of, and her name is experience. Take some contracts, learn your own limits, and train to surpass them. In time, you will come to learn everything that you will need on your own."

"I see..." The young Witcher sounded a little crestfallen. "So where will you go?"

"I cannot say." Frederick shrugged. "Destiny has not revealed that to me yet. But I must face the Path alone for the time being, face greater challenges and prove my ability. Only then will I have proved myself worthy of being Master, not just for your training, but also as a member of our guild. It is the oldest tradition among Witchers, to prove ourselves through the hunt. No contrived tests in crumbling fortresses. No licenses, or treaties, or politics. Just us, and the beasts we were made to fight. So that is what I shall do, or perish in the attempt."

The pair completed the rest of the journey in silence.

~o~0~o~

The interior of the inn known as the Prancing Manticore was warm, if a little gloomy. The barkeep, a burly man by the name of Garten, while honest and good-hearted, certainly wouldn't waste coin on a dozen candles when one would suffice. Regardless, the establishment was comfortable, and in one of the better neighbourhoods of Beauclair. The usual clientele were well behaved, as long as the beer was cold and the meat over the fire plentiful.

Frederick perched atop a stool at the bar, flagon of mead in one hand. The Witcher, unsurprisingly, was stone-cold sober in spite of several hours of hard drinking, a drawback of his mutations. No amount of alcohol could lay him low, as his body metabolised it too fast. A small price to pay to be rendered immune to all poisons and diseases, but at times a hard one to endure. Standing close by, Garten raised a curious eyebrow. Originally from Velen, the northerner's accent stood out among the refined lilt of the Toussainti locals.

"An' yer sure?" He asked. "I mean, I 'ave the gold t' spare, or you can help yerself to any o' the horses in me stable. There's a real beaut in there, golden mane an' fire in her eyes. Would do a Witcher such as yersel' right good."

"I am quite certain." Frederick replied firmly. "This is all I will require for the task, aside from room and board for the boy, as discussed with Dirk."

"I'm always 'appy to 'elp out the Griffins, 'specially after what Dirk done for me mam last year with that howler out in the woods, but this seems a strange request, even by Witcher standards. An' you swear the thing ain't cursed or carryin' a hex o' some sort?"

"I promise you, there is nothing out of the ordinary about it. No magic, no curse, no demonic entity waiting to escape."

"As you say, Master Witcher. Far be it from me to argue myself outta a bargain like this. An' you're sure the boy can handle a Zeugl like that on 'is own?"

"I have every faith in him." Frederick swigged the last of his mead, his ears twitching as he lowered the flagon once more. As Garten went to top up his drink, the Witcher placed a hand over the flagon. "In fact, it would seem he is already done."

As if on cue, the doors to the inn opened, and an utterly drenched Thaddeus stepped in. He walked stiffly, clearly pained, but the biggest wound he had sustained seemed to be to his dignity. Muck of an unmentionable nature coated his armour, and the smell rising from him was utterly pungent. Some of the denizens of the inn gasped at the smell as the Witcher apprentice walked by. Thaddeus ignored them, heading straight for the bar and depositing a single grey pearl, about twice the size of his thumb, in front of Frederick. The Griffin quickly recognised the pearl, pulled from the gullet of the Zeugl.

"There!" Thaddeus gasped, shoulders heaving. "I hope- I never- have to go through that- again!"

"Well done." Frederick congratulated, lifting the pearl for examination. "Looks like this one was an adolescent. If it had been left another year or so, it would have become a real problem, devouring far more than just stray dogs and vermin."

"So now all that's left is the matter of payment, right?" Thaddeus shifted his gaze to Garten. The barkeep shifted uncertainly, opening his mouth to speak, but Frederick interjected.

"I've already negotiated our payment." He ignored how his apprentice bristled at the word 'our'. "You will have room and board here for the foreseeable future. Use this time to hone your craft, and work to save the people of this city from any threats that emerge."

"You make it sound like you're leaving..." Thaddeus already suspected the answer he would get, and Frederick was quick to supply it.

"My time here is done, and I must leave. You have progressed well, and applied everything I have taught you. I hope if our paths ever cross again, that I will be able to greet you as a fellow Witcher, rather than as an apprentice." Frederick looked his apprentice up and down. "I would offer to shake your hand, Thaddeus, but given the circumstances..."

"No, I understand." The younger Witcher glanced down at the filth coating his armour, before looking back to Frederick. "I hope the Path will treat you well, Frederick, and that we meet again someday soon. Hunt well."

"And you." Frederick nodded before turning to Garten, nodding his thanks and dropping a few coins on the bar. Turning from the pair, he walked up to the grand fireplace at the end of the room, leaving Thaddeus to watch curiously, while Garten merely shook his head, muttering under his breath.

"Strangest thing... accepts a contract on a Zeugl, an' all he wants in return is that we hang a painting over by the fireplace? I don't think I'll ever unnerstand a Witcher's mind..."

Frederick walked up to the fireplace, pausing to warm his hands over the open flame, allowing his eyes to rove upwards. There, in pride of place above the fire, among pictures of Toussaint nobility and grand palaces that dotted the land, a somewhat more simple, and yet no less beautiful painting hung.

Piercing green eyes gazed out from delicate, kind features. Pale white skin was framed by a cascade of red hair, a gentle smile gracing curved, full lips. An elegant, yet simple green dress adorned a slight, slender frame, sitting with hands folded in her lap. The beauteous visage of Princess Liva of Redania gazed out of the painting, down at Frederick. The Witcher paused for a long, long moment, feeling the pain rise in his throat as his eyes burned. When he spoke, his voice was so low that none save for the flames of the fire could hear him.

"Here we are, my beloved." He whispered hoarsely. "Toussaint. It's just as beautiful as we had thought. The streets, the buildings, the people, it's everything you had hoped it would be. Now, you can stay here, and never have to worry about politics, or sorceresses, or Witchers ever again. No curse to trouble you, no monster lurking to steal away your happiness."

His voice caught in his throat, the words trapped, helpless. His hands folded in front of him, his gaze lowering from the unblinking stare of the painting. He sighed, a long breath that carried with it all the pain in the world. She knew what he would have wished for. There was no need to say it.

"I'm sorry, my love, that I cannot stay with you. But the world needs Witchers, now more than ever. I have a duty to fulfil. Once my time on the Path is over, I will come back to you." He drew in another long, steadying breath, his final words scarcely a whisper. "I love you, Liva, and I always shall."

With that, he turned on his heel, marching towards the door. In a blink, he was gone, vanishing onto the Path, never to return to Toussaint, to Beauclair, to that spot in front of the fire. In his absence, the painting of Liva looked out from above the fireplace with gentle, beautiful, yet sorrowful green eyes, the Princess waiting through the years and generations for her Witcher protector that would never return.


End file.
